Why Blame When You Can Breathe?
by Rave The Rich
Summary: Courtney Gripling is now a top PR and ad agent in Los Angeles when a chance assignment sends her back home to work with an author on the rise. Her job is to get that author signed up under her agency. Sounds great, right? Well, not when said author is the most important friend you ever made in your life...and your long dormant and already married crush. Please R&R.
1. Special Assignment: Homecoming

Why Blame When You Can Breathe?

A little backstory here. I remember watching this series when it first aired. I found it unique for a few reasons. One is that at the time most of the cartoons made were for young boys; not this one…yet I couldn't turn away. Two, it came out around the same time I was the same age as the main characters (actually about a year older) and saw things happening in the series that were true to life and not dumbed down for purposes of age-level humor. This maturity of handling the pitfalls of junior high and (eventually) high school life earned the show a fan from a periphery demographic.

So I couldn't help but notice watching the smitten interest of Courtney with Ginger throughout the series. Funny enough the executives thought about it, but decided against it. Had this been a decade later, it probably could have happened (the ending of Legend of Korra bears this out, for sure). But where was Courtney at the end with the book reading and what happens when the most interesting circumstances bring the friends back together? This fic seeks to answer that question. Please be advised that this fic contains graphic language, strong sexual content with adult women on women, drug use and some violence. You have been warned.

DISCLAIMER: 'As Told by Ginger' is a creation of Emily Kapnek and is produced by Anivision, Klasky-Csupo and Nickelodeon/Viacom Networks. This author makes no claim to any properties herein and makes no monetary gain from its production. Please do not flame.

(Chapter 1- Special Assignment: Homecoming)

* * *

If it were any other day, I would've left the office an hour ago. Perhaps I should consider this a blessing in disguise. More likely than not I won't have to bear the brunt of notorious rush hour traffic in yet another clear, sunny but somehow, mundane Friday in the City of Angels.

It's not as if I had any plans out of the ordinary, though. The post-work agenda rarely differs for me in the last three years. After opening the door to my Huntington Park apartment, kicking off my modest black heels, checking the answering machine for any important calls, ridding myself of this baby blue blouse underneath a navy blue blazer and skirt combination with matching tie, I inwardly debate whether I should go to the gym this evening or Saturday morning while along the way finding something to eat, getting six or so hours of sleep, and weighing new clientele and their works to represent for the upcoming spring season.

That formulaic process seems like a bore, but this is my familiarity. Lazy weekends are the cure for energetic yet fun times promoting the best entertainment and social functions throughout the world. I went through those above rituals just last week and probably pronounced them out loud while waiting in traffic and listening to the afternoon drive talk show. That all seems so inconsequential now, though. To say I don't know what caused the change is a complete fallacy. It just happened and it goes back to the reason why I haven't left the office of my employer _Westwood and Beyond_ _Marketing_ in the very neighborhood of my alma mater.

Well, before I get to that, I should be getting to me. Around the office and professionally, I'm known as Courtney Claire McShell. If the name of my employer didn't give it away, I am an advertising and public relations agent who works alongside artists, entertainers and the like to promote their works and present them to either companies or the general public so that they may support them or so they (the artists) can move up the next level to achieve their success. I started this line of work while attending the University of California, Los Angeles as an intern and I've never left earning a full-time position six months after graduating with a double bachelors in business administration and public relations.

I have earned my credentials with more than ten years of service to this firm, but I would be a fool to suggest that this success, including living debt free and holding a personal portfolio of a few million dollars on the side, was all on my shoulders. I had a helping hand in that through the trust fund set up by my father when I was a baby. For all the screw-ups that came later, I can't thank my father Prescott Gripling enough for that gift. The fact that he couldn't touch it during the liquidation has truly served me well. I haven't had to work my way out of a hole due to attending UCLA out of state.

But wait! I'm known as McShell, but my father is Gripling? Again, I told you my _professional_ name, but I've never changed my true given name, Courtney Claire Gripling, with the 'McShell' part coming from my mother. It's her maiden name. I've always wondered when that surname, my last name and heritage, would no longer come back to haunt me to the point I no longer have to hear jokes about insider trading and my father being the men's version of Martha Stewart. Twenty years have passed and by either hook or crook, I finally did my part to make a name for myself. Gone are the days where I lean on my father and his legacy in the name of success but…perhaps that's over exaggerating the larger point.

I take a tremendous amount of pride in what I do and the fact that I can help people improve their level of success in what can only be described as a cutthroat business. I've never shied away from what I do for a living. While people on the outside look to the glamorous aspect of rubbing shoulders with celebrities on a near daily basis, I constantly remind people that it's all about the business. It has to be otherwise someone else can easily take my place. To be fair, it's not 'all work and no play' for me as much as it's recognizing the difference between your friends and your associates. Believe me, in my formative years I got a true lesson about what it takes to be a real friend; one I won't soon forget.

From me, even the greatest of stars are treated the same as the fledgling performer looking to take the next step. They are owed that much from me and the business; an opportunity. If someone sees something in them, then we put in an investment. There is little difference between this and dealing with stocks, bonds or commodities…with one clear exception; they're people. They have needs, wants and desires like all of us and throughout ten years I've seen the frustration of great talent not getting their break for whatever reason or getting the break and finding the grass not being as green on the other side of the fence.

I apologize. I just went on this nostalgic tangent for some reason. Someone once told me about that. You know, the grass being greener? Let's just say they're more right than wrong. I'll cap this off in just a moment and make my way home.

At this point, of all points, it hits me…and I fall right out of my chair onto the floor of my office, backside first.

Catching my breath, I have to exclaim such realizations if only to confirm them to my inner conscience. "Wow! That's right. Pretty soon my apartment won't be my home anymore."

I don't want to scare anyone. The firm didn't fire me. After all, if they did would they allow me to remain there after hours?

Racking my brain, I do my best to regain my bearings once more. I get up on my feet and then look at my desk to see the manila envelope with instructions for my next assigned subject. The project I could never imagine would be on my desk and the assignment I couldn't believe came my way. What luck…in a manner of speaking.

* * *

"McShell," came the call a split second after a few knocks on the door. It's the boss whose knock is unlike others because he only uses two or three knuckles on his right hand. Lighter than a full knock, it belies his true demeanor; brash, cagy, gregarious and all together assertive in the manner in which he conducts business.

"Good afternoon, Mack," I respond as he opens the crack in my office door. I should add that he is one of the more open bosses out there, anyone can come to him with any problem and he'll listen. Also we have a 'last-name policy' to compensate for people that find a 'first-name policy' to be unprofessional. Reid Mackaulay has known me since my college days and saw a lot of himself in me. Honestly, between us, I've always believed it was about more than just what he saw that I could do for the firm, but despite those lingering thoughts, he's always kept a business-like approach with all of his people, for the good of the company.

On this particular day, he's caught me with about half an hour to go before the end of the day, but this behavior of his is nothing out of the ordinary. Usually, if we've completed work for a client, our next assignment would come by the tail end of the week. If a team was necessary, then a mandatory meeting would be called and everyone in the office knew what would take place next.

I look his way and can tell that whatever he's got in mind has been weighing on him for a while. "Would you come into my office, please? I have a special assignment I want to speak with you about and…just meet me in five minutes. Please?"

"Yes, sir." At this point, I have no clue what it is he could possibly want to do. I finish whatever e-mail drafts I have to compose and turn off my computer before leaving for my boss's office.

Speaking with the secretary, she buzzes me in and I shut the door behind me per the request of Mack.

"Have a seat, McShell." I do so and give the older gentleman my undivided attention.

Thinking about what could possibly come next, I recollect to the myriad of times I've been called to Mack's office for a 'special assignment'. They can vary from project to project in grand scope. One thing I've found they all have in common is that they tend to be subjects that are non-traditional for a Los Angeles-based agency that has, amongst its clientele, motion picture studios.

Nevertheless, from promoting adoption agencies in Southern California to raising awareness of the economic benefits of legalized recreational marijuana. The projects run the gamut of both unique and absurd marketing plans and promotions.

I see Mack and I also notice his head in his hands. Granted, I knew these one-on-one meetings he'd have with his staff would consist of projects no one would beg to take, but that the office saw as worthwhile. "Now, Courtney," he begins, surprising me by using my given name. I should've known at that moment something was different about this. "As you probably know, there are many subjects out there that we as a firm local in Los Angeles can't cover with the best of care. The…there is an author who released non-fiction short stories about her life experiences a few years ago. It was an absolute success and people are now eagerly anticipating her debut fiction work.

"Now, I had several other agents in mind for this process because her people constantly tell me she won't do business unless she has someone personally there to check everything and go through the proper clearances. She's got a young family at home and she doesn't want to leave them for too long a time. Despite that, we need her business because the buzz on social media, her popularity scores and everything just…no one's seen anything like this out of an author in a long, long time. Her following proceeds her."

I had a feeling where this was going. "And…is it fair to say…everyone else turned it down because…she's not from here?"

A discrete nod told me everything I needed to know, but I then asked, "How far?"

Then came a chuckle from his mouth; a chuckle that told me he knew something I didn't. That much was obvious, but as you learn in this field it's all about context and not content when conducting business. "Try…clear across this great land. She's in the New York Tri-State area, a tad closer to Connecticut/New York border…" Well, I'll be damned. It's been a while since I've been there. Though I'm trying to think why we're spreading our wings so widely. Is this author making plans to possibly take her work to the big screen? If so, Mack's once again on his game in terms of getting to talent at the ground level. He's always had a nose for that kind of thing.

"I really was not looking forward to asking you this because you have been one of the best agents in this firm. Should you take on this project, then that means we don't see each other for at least six months and you'll really be missed here in the office. You just…you know how to bring out your subjects. You make them feel at home and you keep them coming back. Courtney, do you have any idea how difficult that is in this day and age? And now we have this author, who wants to have an agent from our ad house come to her home for the next six months in the lead up to her first fiction novel. I can give you the details, but I've read what's close to a final draft and can tell that this is something we're bound to see on the big screen in a few years."

"Ah-ha!" I exclaim to him. "Once again your aim of finding talent when they get started is impeccable. Admittedly I'm somewhat surprised that it's an author so far away and she wants such treatment, but…I guess the struggle will be worth it if she delivers."

"That's why I'm counting on you."

"Me?"

"Yes, Courtney," Mack responds. Folding his hands in what appears to be a sign of prayer, he admits, "I…wanted to talk myself out of it and find someone else, but no one wants to do it. I even offered double the pay with most expenses on the work trip paid and an added eight weeks of vacation over the next two years, but no one wants it! Look, I get it. Most agents in this firm are married with children and…transplanting them to what might as well be a foreign locale isn't what's best for them. I understand."

It's all starting to make sense. The son of a bitch is setting me up to go to Connecticut for half a year to cover this so-called writing sensation. He knows I spent several years there as a teen and thinks that the draw of home for me will be as strong for me as it was for LeBron James. Okay, I'll play along for a bit (or be played along, depending on one's view). "So you turn to the youngest agent in your firm, the thirty-two year old divorcee of one of the top sports agents in Los Angeles who hasn't had a spouse, pets or kids to come home to in six years and throw in her face the opportunity to double my salary for this job and to go back where I grew up?"

Oh, did I mentioned the fact that I'm divorced? Well, I am. We're still friends, though. I never wanted a failed marriage to get in the way of what was always a good friendship and thank heavens, it hasn't…despite some of my UCLA comrades telling me I'd forever regret marrying a graduate of my rival institution, the University of Southern California. I'm unapologetic and will never take back that time or that decision. I'm the better for the journey.

"Like I said, no one else would take it."

"I don't know, Mack. That's a tremendous commitment you're asking me to make for this author. I mean, double and eight weeks paid is great, but…I need to know how much I'm valued by taking on this project."

Can you tell I'm milking him for all he'll give? If not, there you go. To be honest, he had me at double pay and enough vacation time to take a 30-day trip twice, but we'll see how far I can move the needle. "I would really appreciate this, Courtney. I…this is part of the reason why we were looking into opening a New York office. She saw the work we did and…"

"No one else wants this?" I need that point made absolutely clear.

"Trust me. I've asked everyone else who I'd possibly want for such a grand project."

You have to do better than that, Mack. "I reiterate, Mack, I need to know how much you value my services to take on a project of this magnitude. Lay it out for me if I'm the one for the job."

He takes a deep breath and save for a few blinks of the eye, I don't take my eye off of my boss. He knows I drive a hard bargain, and rightfully so. Looking off to the side at a few envelopes, he nods as if he knows just what will send me across the country. "Okay, here's my deal. I have to have her with this company. She's a lottery ticket without the risk. Trust me, her writing is that damn good. So…if you say yes, I'll triple your salary, give you an added sixteen weeks paid vacation over the next four years on top of what you already have, double all of your earned bonuses for three years, furnish your next company car, give you a reserved parking space upon your return, and…give you fifteen percent of controlling shares in the company. I'm talking you'll have power to decide these matters, if you agree to my terms."

All of it, from top to bottom, was more than I'd either asked or bargained for when hearing this deal. I'm speechless and nearly flabbergasted at the sheer size of the numbers Mack threw at me just to work with this author more than three thousand miles from Los Angeles back home and in a familiar landing spot to boot. I'm doubly convinced, but if I've ever learned anything from my cable bills, I know there has to be a catch, especially considering Mack's last sentence. "So, what's the catch? What do I have to sign away for the golden goose? An arm and a leg? My frozen eggs? Eighty hour work weeks in perpetuity?"

Bringing his hands together I get the view of what appears to be a coarse yet clear smile. It's as if a weight lift from his shoulders, but went directly to his feet. Perhaps that explains why he appeared to want to get up from his seat, but then came back down in his chair, bending back before taking a deep breath. He finally elaborates on his terms, saying "If you cannot sign her for at least five years with our ad house, I will only give you the treble salary and eight weeks of vacation added to your original total. All other offers are contingent upon you signing her to us exclusively for those five years. Also," he adds while pulling out a single page document with a few lines for signature, "you agree to work with our author in Connecticut sight unseen. You won't know who she is until you sign here and commit to providing her services. Once you sign here, we can go forward with the process."

Mack hands me the document and it is, indeed, a simple one-page contract that holds me subject to lawsuit should I abdicate the project for any reason beyond life and limb, hardships, accidents or illness during the trip. I'll be given six weeks to prepare the move and my work load will be reduced and eventually eliminated as I move from my current active talents. All appears straightforward with no weasel words or fuzzy language about needing to relinquish my first born if this doesn't work out, so I sign and date in preparation for the next order of business.

Handing the contract over to Mack, he sighs before taking it and telling me, "You have no idea how much I appreciate this and appreciate you for stepping up to the plate in such a mighty way. If this works out, our entire agency will be wearing diamonds larger than fucking elephant turds."

My boss has a, shall we say, colorful way of describing how a monster deal for the company would reap us benefits of an absurd nature. Truthfully, making multiple small deals provide us a great living, which is all any of us could ask for, but this is the reason why we aim to be the best in the business. Perhaps none of us put an item as gaudy as a diamond that size on our list of goals for the year, but it doesn't hurt to dream big, for sure.

Now, as I look at Mack reach into a drawer of his desk, he pulls out a hardcover book without any identifiable markings of a title or author. "We're gonna hit the heights because of the first fictional work from the author Ginger Foutley."

If I had a drink at that very moment, I would've choked on it. Of all the authors—of _all_ the authors that could've come from the New York Tri-State Area just by the New York/Connecticut border, it had to be _that _one. Again, with a drink, I choke, but without a drink, I just get this bug-eyed look like a deer intersecting a road with an oncoming car driving with its hi-beam headlights flashing.

My boss notices this, just like a nonverbal tell during a board meeting and innocuously asks me, "Hey, is something the matter? If you don't know about her work, I can give you her nonfiction short story collection. I tell you, Courtney, you'll love it! It's called…"

I might as well put everything out into the open. Before he can tell me the title, I interject, saying "It's called _As Told by Ginger: A Collection of Short Stories _by Ginger Foutley. Honestly, I hope I'd remember that after all this time. I…believe it or not, I actually have an advance copy signed by the author in my apartment."

"No kidding?" he asks me in a tone of heightened anticipation for good news. I could see it in his eyes. A pin light of hope for this deal evolved into a shining star in just a matter of seconds as he digested my admission.

"No kidding," I respond.

"How did you get an advanced copy?"

Time to pull back the curtain in this case and let the information free flow. "We actually went to school together for most of our formative years until high school. We…I transferred along with my brother further upstate with mom before I turned sixteen. After graduation, I got to reconnect with my dad for a little bit after he got out of prison. He…apologized for shaming us as a family. We, of course, forgave him, but I still took my trust fund to UCLA to go where I knew I needed to go; away from the drama of all that. Later I found out that Ginger went to New York University for creative arts after my ex spotted Ginger's name in the credits for a late night talk show. Her name was there as an intern. I later caught it on a DVR and couldn't believe it!

"I played phone tag with my mom who got in touch with Ginger's mother who finally got me connected back to her. We talked for a bit about our lives, she was working in one of the network page programs at the same time I interned for a major motion picture studio for one summer. We exchanged information, but rarely called because of our busy schedules. In fact, despite it all, we've only seen each other a few times since high school. I remember once she came to visit me for a week several years ago while considering her career path and looking to get some networking done on the west coast. I really loved spending time with her. It felt right that we should be friends and close ones like early high school and junior high. It didn't last, though, because after that point she dedicated herself to the short story compilation and her family's memoir. She went back home and the last time I actually saw her was at her wedding. I attended, wished her and her husband, Darren, the best—by the way I also went to school with her husband. But that was the last time about…now six years ago. I got the copy of the book four years ago and thought she did a great job. The sales more or less reflected that."

It's true. So many people got to see their life experiences through Ginger and no one was more proud of her than me, hard as it is to believe. Often times, there is an attempt to fabricate or otherwise, to borrow an expression, 'Hollywood' their experiences for best story. Those who do that fail to see what I think Ginger always knew based on her writing; she does not write for everyone or to please everyone. No, she wrote the story, allowed it to stand on its merits and presented it to people. A true, unfiltered account of the truth of growing up and how it's difficult whether or not catastrophe happens in this thing called life. I did write her to thank her for the book and for not falling for the idea that the story needed juice. I lived many of those stories right along with her and knew they would resonate with an audience. The project is steadily growing on me if only for the idea that I might have a hand in Ginger's future success.

So I think that encapsulates the extent of our time together. I don't know what Mack thought of when I told him one of the advance copies was signed for me by the author. That fact probably got him thinking we are good friends. How I wish it were present tense, but it's not. It's not about inking this deal—at least, not completely, but I'm anticipating quite the adventure coming back home, reading this near final draft and reconnecting with a true blue friend.

Despite all the emotions swirling in my head, Mack appears oblivious to it all as he brings out his right hand saying, "I think we'll all be in the money before you know it. The only question I have is, 'Can you get her in our family?' Based on what you've said, she'll gravitate to an old friend."

I bring out my hand and we proceed to shake to a project's future success. I tell Mack, "I'll give you all I've got for this one."

"That's all I needed to hear. I'm counting on you, Courtney. I tell you what, take the next week off and prepare for the move. It'll be the right time for your contacts to get their work absorbed by the rest of the organization. I want your only concern being Ginger and her signing on the dotted line long term. You do that, and what you've long known as success will pale in comparison to what takes place next. Thanks a million, Courtney. You're dismissed."

* * *

Well that all sounded intriguing, for sure. It's been about two hours now and I'm seriously considering take out or a stop by the nearest fast casual dive to eat before heading home. Beyond that, thinking about my next steps will take time, but apparently I now have plenty of time to eat, breathe, and sleep reuniting with undoubtedly one of the most important friends I ever made…on a strictly professional basis.

I'm mixed about this. Again it came out of nowhere but the more I think about it, the less I believe this should've done that. There are authors throughout that area of the country looking to get their projects the proper attention. None of a particular popularity or that I followed beyond reading their works and with me more focused on those in motion pictures, television, music, theater, stage shows and sports, the written word just doesn't garner as much attention from me beyond my goal of reading at least one hardcover a month. But I knew Ginger's success first hand. I paid attention to the best seller's lists and saw her collection there for more than a year. I anticipated word of a follow up and just missed it.

Blame that on what they call the vicious cycle; life just happened to roll forward and the next grand tower or untouched mountain laid before me waiting with baited breath for my challenge. I kind of resolved myself to my role in promoting the best in emerging entertainment while she lived the chaotic yet cathartic life of a writer three thousand miles from me. Not the easiest thing to cover with your attention primarily focused in another area.

So my life has kind of gotten turned upside down in just one afternoon. Dealing with this is _not_ something I aim to do on my own for very long. "I need to make a phone call to…someone. Anyone—wait. I know who to call. Of course. I always knew. I just hope she'll answer."

Grabbing my purse from underneath my desk, I turn on the device and unlock it. A quick tap to the phone menu leads me to the contacts at which point I roll down to the letter 'M'.

* * *

"I'm only gonna say this one more motherfucking time, and whether you decide to listen or not is entirely up to you," says a booming, militant voice from behind a leather chair situated in the direction of the skyline of Los Angeles from her posh office. "Either my client gets 400 million dollars over ten years, or you can take turns along with your co-executives in Anaheim sucking both of our assholes out with blackstrap molasses! Don't worry because either way we'll sure as hell be able to afford it. Have you not heard of the interest that the men in pinstripes have in my client?"

Chatter on the other end precedes more emasculating on the part of this woman as she informs the listening party, "I know you have a season left before winter meetings. I understand this is negotiations and not the mutual fucking admiration society, but you've seen the reports out there. Fans think you don't care about locking up number 27. They think you're gonna pussy out on this. Getting burned by signing half a billion dollars _guaranteed_ on older players the past several years doesn't serve you well when it's time to sign the one and only surefire, no-doubter, can't miss motherfucker. A bat, a son of a bitch that can swing for the fences and not much else, gets 325 over thirteen, but a legitimate MVP can't get 400? Something's wrong with that fucking picture and you're the ones who can make it right, or you can kiss that goddamn goldmine 'goodbye'."

More voices on the other line continue and commence for longer than a minute before a buzzer sounds in her office with a red beacon signifying someone on the line for her. Looking to wrap up her present conversation, she informs the listener, "Well…well you see that's the reason why I make the big bucks. We'll talk when the season starts, okay? Remember 400 million or Dodgertown isn't that far from here. I'm sure they'd be interested, as well. Later."

Getting up from her seat, she presses a button on her desk and asks, "Who is it, Marlo?"

"Courtney on line two."

The face of this woman softens a bit hearing that name. For a split second, one could tell that this call is one she looked forward to, even though the caller was not expected today. Pressing the button again, she rings her secretary to "Transfer her over, please."

Only a few seconds lapse before she hears that familiar ring of the phone, which she takes from her speaker. "Hey Courtney, what's up?"

"Oh, Miranda! Thank goodness I caught you at just the right time," Courtney replies. Indeed, the one Courtney 'knew' to call was her longtime friend Miranda Killgallen, who's probably less than fifteen minutes from her at this moment in Van Nuys. "I think with the news I just got, I'm gonna need my best friend."

The first thought to naturally come to mind was one of concern. "Oh, no! Westwood didn't fire you, did they?"

"No, no!" she replies, brushing off the thought but kicking herself for even giving Miranda the inkling of a cause for concern. "They didn't fire me. I…I got transferred this afternoon. I'm gonna be leaving in six weeks for a special six month project."

Hearing those words, Miranda swore at that moment she felt her heart drop down to her stomach. After nearly fifteen years of the two of them proclaiming that they would claim this city as their own, one of the dynamic duo now has to plant roots elsewhere.

Shaking her head, she can't believe that soon the days of afternoon happy hour or nights on the phone speaking about work schedules with her best buddy will soon come to an end. Granted while Courtney won't be gone forever, it's still a bittersweet pill to swallow during an otherwise great day for her in paradise. Solemnly she replies back to the news, "Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. Was it…one of those Mack specials?"

"You nailed it," Courtney answers in reference to her needy boss. "Can't get out of it now. All I can do is plan my trip, inform the family and then it's _bon voyage_."

"Well, then…we'll just have to make the best of the time we have before you go," she says, but at that moment, the sentence was left hanging due to an underlying question left unanswered. "Where are you going, anyway?"

The lengthy pause from the other end does little to assuage the concern from Miranda's end. It's as if Courtney is attempting to let it down easy where she'll be going. Fleeting thoughts of her friend going overseas in a war-ravaged nation come to mind but leave just as quickly. Then again, her position is not one where she's usually in the line of fire or a stranger in a strange world trying to do their part to help. 'That's someone else's work,' Miranda ponders, 'and I commend him for it.'

Silence on the other end is deafening and Miranda has had enough of it. "Courtney, where exactly are you…"

"Home," Courtney interjects. To clarify, "I'm going back to Connecticut to consult with an author one-on-one before her book launch. And…"

Miranda is finding herself quite aggravated with these pauses, "And?"

Taking a breath deep enough that Miranda heard it from the speakers, she finally admits…

"It's Ginger."

* * *

A/N: That's chapter one of…I never know how many. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this and stay tuned for the next chapter where some loose ends are tied up and Courtney flies back home to begin work with Ginger.

Until next time…this is Rave!


	2. Just Keep Telling Yourself That

Why Blame When You Can Breathe?

DISCLAIMER: 'As Told by Ginger' is a creation of Emily Kapnek and is produced by Anivision, Klasky-Csupo and Nickelodeon/Viacom Networks. This author makes no claim to any properties herein and makes no monetary gain from its production. Please do not flame.

(Chapter 2- Just Keep Telling Yourself That)

* * *

The sigh on the other end of the line tells me all I need to know about what Miranda thought about my latest plans. She knows there's not a damn thing I can do about it now that I've committed, but for her it's not really about the job. It goes much deeper than that…for both of us, to be honest.

"I heard that, Miranda," I chastise, even though I knew that this would not be the most pleasant news to her ears.

"Well what do you want me to do?" she questions. "Throw you a fucking parade?"

"No, but at the very least I would expect you to be cordial about this. We were all friends at one point!"

"Cordial, my ass!" she interjects and I have to grit my teeth for a bit, feeling that I might've struck a nerve with that comment. "Not when it always comes back to Ginger! We can be cool and everything, we can be buddies, but…I've always gotten the feeling there was more there than friendship back then and especially now!"

Now I have to sigh heavily and drop my head. It's a good thing we're not over a video conference at the moment. "Miranda, we've talked about this so many times…"

"So you don't mind that we talk about this again, huh?"

"No, I just don't care for the fact that you throw out such innuendos with no basis to them."

"Then just tell me you don't have feelings for Ginger and I'll stop the innuendos."

Miranda can be so aware and so on top of matters, it's scary. I've never been able to slip a lie through her during intimate conversations, and I doubt I'll be able to do that now…even through the phone. Even with that fact in mind, the answer to her question should be obvious. "That's not fair, and you know it," I plead to my good friend. "Besides, do I have to dredge up the reason why you saw her as the bane of your existence for so long? I'll be damned if I've ever seen so much jealousy from one person to another and so undeserved for things you or she couldn't control."

"Just admit it, for God's sake," Miranda says, nearly exasperated that I keep beating around the bush about this, even though it doesn't put me in the best light. I begin to open my mouth and then she beats me to the punch, saying, "Okay. I don't want to come across as cold given this shock assignment, Courtney. You want me to admit my end of this, as if you don't already know? Yeah, I admired Ginger just about as much as you did, with one exception. I knew long before you did about loving differently and…how you'd look at her, how you'd want to know more about her and the like; I went through that same song and dance with you. In other words, I saw myself in you like you did with Ginger. Our worlds aren't so far apart, Courtney. I love you. Hell, I'll never stop loving you and you know this." Sighing, she caps this admission, which I already knew, with, "But, I'm more than a little pissed. Even post-divorce she's still the object of your affection to my utter bewilderment."

She sounds like the most scorned yet jealous lover that I've ever known, and it's all true. And yes, if you didn't already know Miranda Killgallen is my ex-wife. I don't care much for labels, but I haven't so much as chastely kissed another man who wasn't either close or related to me since age sixteen. I own my identity, so as far as the question is concerned, am I a Lesbian? Dyke? Queer? Homosexual? I am all of those things or some of them…yet none of them at the same time. I'm just me; a woman who knows what she wants in life and knows that that includes another woman and the accompanying intimacy. Though I will admit 'queer' comes with a bit of mystique and intrigue that the other names do not, I see no point in answering to it as simply living my life gives everyone all they need to know about Courtney Gripling.

Miranda is altogether different. 'I'm a dyke, and that's all right!' along with 'Know it, own it, live it and be it,' are just two of her favorite sayings and they've served her well during her career and life.

She and I reconnected during our last year of high school, but our interactions were severely limited because of distance and the fact that she joined the enrichment program at USC's ROTC before starting the fall semester.

Once our respective wheels began to roll in terms of starting college life on the other end of the country in schools less than fifteen miles away from one another, we helped each other through that first year. We knew that while we were far away, a friend was always close.

Miranda, at the time, didn't have a car, so we would often carpool from campus to campus either studying or going out during the weekends before we got the idea to pool our resources together after our freshman years and put the money going into room and board into an apartment.

From there, our relationship only grew deeper as we balanced studies with work and extracurricular programs. While not living a particularly lavish life in Los Angeles, we did well...even though we were living a quite obvious lie.

Tensions between the two of us would often rise to a near-boil week after week during our sophomore year. Casually undressing in front of one another or acting flirtatious while on the phone with dates or among company was no longer just a matter of 'girls being girls', though if one of us left the room or turned away, it was clear what that amounted to for anyone paying attention. I knew Miranda was out and, while I'm not proud of it, I'd bait her with talks of blind dates and to keep her on her toes, I wouldn't mention the fact that all of them were with other college girls in Southern California.

"I'll always love you too, Miranda," I admit, though she knew the feeling was mutual. "But...months of counseling and we both know that we're best as best friends. I'll never regret for marrying you, though. You remember how it really started for us, right?"

"Yeah," she sighs and I can almost hear her voice soothe as the memory comes back to both of us. Stick with me, because I have to set the table for what happened that night. To this day I still can't believe _this_ was the genesis of my romantic relationship with Miranda, but stranger things have happened in the game of love.

Living for nearly six months with Miranda came to a head in late February of my sophomore year. I got a call from Blake on an otherwise lazy Saturday. At age fifteen going on sixteen my baby brother was soon to graduate high school early as high school valedictorian and everyone in the family was excited for his prospects. Again, with the trust fund money was no issue but even that didn't matter as Blake got offers of full academic scholarships from top schools all across the country.

If the family were honest, we thought the choice was a no-brainer. Mom talked throughout the year to me about how Blake saw Yale as being perfect. He would only be an hour from home, get a world-class education and take part in perhaps the greatest alumni network in all the world. I only heard the occasional reference to NYU and Columbia, mostly from my dad, but Yale tended to dominate any talks about Blake's future plans.

In any case, he called to tell me that there had been a change in plans. I wondered if he would take the Horace Greeley approach and go west like Miranda and I. Thoughts of him going to Stanford came to mind, but before I could ask him he went into this spiel about Yale feeling 'too perfect' and looking for, above all, a challenge to get him out of his comfort zone and feed a constant hunger for learning.

It all led up to him informing me that he traded his Ivy League acceptance letters for Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee.

Maybe you couldn't have knocked me over with a feather at that moment, but I'd say that news came with the shock of waking up to morning thunder. Blake never talked about going too far for school but did visit the campus without telling mom and dad while spending a week in Nashville during spring break. That earned him more than a tongue lashing from both of my folks, but they're nevertheless proud of the fact that he got into such a prestigious school.

Before hanging up the phone, I told him I was proud of him for taking this big step and it was all true. Beyond the congratulatory words, however, I sat there in bed. There I was; a big sister realizing that not only does time fly quickly, it can easily leave those behind who live this thing called life. Ultimately, Blake, who's now 27, found his true calling and left behind his Yale aspirations to go to Harvard for his Masters degree in Education. Right now he is a year away from earning his Doctorate in Education online.

I'm embarrassed to admit it now, but I cried after about a minute thinking that this would be us going our separate ways for good and starting our own lives at different ends of the nation only to come back in contact with one another during the holidays or other special occasions a few times a year. Before the insider trading scandal, money couldn't mask the fact that there was a stark divide between my brother and I. Age and different interests may have contributed to that, but after my dad's arrest, that all changed.

Our bond became stronger through the realization that we were truly all we had and all that mattered in the face of having only one parent around due to my dad's offenses. In fact before leaving for Los Angeles, I considered Blake either at or next to Miranda as my closest confidant.

Speaking of her, this is where she comes into my story...finally! She heard me crying while in the kitchen that day making lunch. When I revealed everything, Miranda was so understanding and helpful during that confusing time. I know if you look at her on the surface, she can appear to be most abrasive and downright sinister, especially at work, but deep down, she is an absolute teddy bear. I know she'd hate to hear anyone say that about her, but only those that really know her felt what I felt that night.

"You thought about Blake and your folks and the emotions just rose to the surface," Miranda recollects after I gave her a brief summary of that night. "Suddenly, the trips home for Blake would go from two hours round trip to fourteen hours one-way by car. Granted, he could do two and a half hour flights, but it's still a huge fucking difference. Like I told you, you were all the way across the country and doing well. Our trips back to Connecticut by plane took twice as long as Blake's, but...looking back I have to say everything worked out well for him."

"'Blake's gotta find himself, just like you did,' is what you told me, and you were right," I follow while trying to steer the conversation back to our relationship. "Yet, I just kept crying and almost began losing my breath. Remember, I had you with me that entire time. We lifted each other and got through the struggles and the homesickness. He would be on his own. Not nearly as far away, but still sixteen years old and quite far from home.

"Then I screamed, 'My baby brother is growing up too damn fast. Hell, he can't even drive a car yet! How does he expect to tackle a new state and new challenges?' And you said, 'Have faith in him, Courtney. Just have faith.'"

"And then...I wrapped you in a big hug and-God, this is so fucking corny when I think about it."

"To hear you admit how much you cared for me and didn't want me to end up in a rut about Blake was such a relief." Then I sigh. It hits me hard. That moment really broke me out of a shell I never knew I had. I was never the same woman after that night, all thanks to Miranda. Even though I've personally moved on from her, a part of Miranda will always live with me...though I gather a bigger part of me will always reside within Miranda.

From the point she had me in that bear-like embrace, she rested her hands around the back of my neck to caress it and quickly got my attention by looking me square into the eyes.

At that point, she leaned in and while I probably should've shivered, shrieked or shifted my view from her steely eyes, I did nothing but sit there. I felt a tremendous peace as she gave me a kiss on the lips lighter than a hummingbird's feather. She was so tender at that moment, the antithesis of what the world would know in the foul-mouthed sports agent. I got the purest form of Miranda Killgallen on that night...and so much more.

Leaning back from the kiss for a split second, she then went to my ear to inquire something I didn't expect but should've seen coming from a great distance. "Why don't we quit playing these games and you join me in bed right now? I know you've had it for me for the longest time, Courtney, so for now," she says before stealing a kiss on the cheek and then requesting of me, "I just want you to let it all go by the wayside. This is your time, Courtney. Whatever you want, I'll provide at your pace because you mean that much to me. You understand?"

Besides that initial, 'Okay,' to Miranda, I didn't do much more talking that afternoon. Lots of heavy breathing, grunts and the occasional scream were just part of that night that went from Blake's surprise to me and Miranda making love for nearly four hours without a lull in activity. Afterwards, the feeling didn't depart. It followed me closer than my own shadow as Miranda cuddled in bed with me the rest of the evening. Thoughts of our actions still vivid in our heads and us exposed with nothing more to hide only heightened the intensity of the moment even though the rest of the time we spent holding and kissing one another with legitimate affection and adulation.

It's been said, ironically enough, that one cannot truly feel alive unless they find themselves either at the brink of death or with the belief that they could go to such extremes. Miranda brought out of me emotions, instincts and responses I never knew were in me. Miranda gave me that gift and sent me to the brink of passion the likes of which no other woman has done before or since.

"I'll never forget that moment," I tell my ex. "Remember when we went home that summer?"

"Talk about your shocking news, but all told our folks took it quite well. I think my dad always had a feeling that's how I swung, but you already knew that. Speaking of summer, will Blake be coming home this summer?"

"I'm not sure. He's got so much going on for him it's hard to ask him to bring the whole clan halfway around the world. It'll be great to see him throughout his vacation if he can come back home."

"Sure enough," she replies before I heard a light ring in the background. A second or so passes as Miranda speaks into the receiver telling me to "Hold on." I wait, but no longer than a minute before I hear a click over and a voice asking "Courtney?"

There's no doubt in my mind who that is. "Tara? Hey, how are you girl? I didn't expect you to be on the line."

"I feel all right. The visit to the doctor tomorrow should confirm that for me and our expanding family."

"Good luck with that, both of you-well, all of you actually."

"Thanks, but between you and I, I'm sure everything will check out with no problems," Tara explains, "I think Miranda is freaking out a bit too much over the initial prenatal checkup."

"Oh, so sue me for being concerned about my wife and our unborn child!" Miranda chimes in with obvious faux outrage. "Some gratitude you offer me when I not only volunteer to chauffeur but offer to take you out for breakfast on me."

"You know what I mean, Miri," Tara replies assuredly, "and I really do appreciate all that you're doing to make sure I'm comfortable and well taken care of, but...I'm the one carrying this bundle of joy. If anybody knows my body, it would be me."

Yes, it's true. Soon Miranda will add 'mother' to her list of accomplishments as the former Tara Ortiz is now three months pregnant. The fact is it hasn't been easy for the two to get to this point as IVF treatments haven't given Tara success until recently. It got to the point that the pair considered adoption and while that remains on the table long term, the focus now goes to a healthy pregnancy for Tara. Both she and Miranda deserve it after nearly four years of work to make this a reality.

As for me, I'm happy for my friend while knowing that things are certain to be different for all of us given that much of her time will have to go toward the new baby. Our time together after the divorce already went way down after Miranda began dating Tara and significantly dropped to about three to four times a month after she remarried. I can only imagine what this new edition will do to our time spent, but I don't begrudge the main reason Miranda and I are no longer together for selfish reasons like the ones I just mentioned. As I've told her, even before we began dating, she will make a fantastic parent; firm and steadfast with a commanding voice that booms through the office on a near daily basis, but every action and word has love behind it with a doe of gentleness to complete the package and offer assurance that Miranda will take life as it comes in raising her first child.

I won't beat around the bush about it, I just wasn't ready or even thinking about children after graduating from college. Miranda was, and I often prayed that she would reconsider given that we weren't even in our mid-twenties and only just focusing on our life as newlyweds. Frankly, I'm still not warm to the idea of having my own children even at my age. Obviously I have nothing against them, but it certainly is something to ponder considering Tara and Miranda have seen fit to designate me as one of their child's godparents, which I've accepted.

"Oh, Courtney," Tara interjects while I recollect once again, "Miranda gave me the short version while you were on hold. It'll be really sad to see you go, but I suppose duty calls."

"Indeed it does, but I don't plan on being gone forever."

"You're working with Ginger Foutley, right?"

"Yeah, you remember her, right? She was in town several years ago to make some Hollywood contacts."

"I interned for the company that published her memoir during my first year in school. For that I got a free copy and I loved it! I felt like I relived my childhood pitfalls. I can't wait to read her novel." The feeling is mutual, Tara, but I don't think Miranda wanted to hear much about Ginger at that point. Before I can even respond, Miranda says, 'Yeah, yeah.' I'm willing to bet the farm that there was an accompanying eye roll to go along with her interjection.

I should pause to note a few quick points here. Miranda met Tara six years ago during a law school alumni luncheon at USC planned by the sophomore class. She is 26 and works as a private intellectual property attorney. Miranda got Tara's card under the guise of potential business opportunities and Hollywood contacts she knew from me, but it turned out to be a smokescreen-in part, at least. Indeed, Miranda got her in touch with companies to intern and learn her craft. Beyond that, however, for those who believe in attractive forces at work, Miranda simply would not be denied. She kept it casual for about a month or two, both of them meeting for business around either lunch or snacks, but she eventually opened up to Tara about her feelings which led her to neither rejection nor affirmation, but to ponder what to do for more than a month.

Miranda talked with concern to me about possibly being too forward with a twenty-year old seeing as she only got responses of 'I'm still thinking it over' and 'this came as quite the surprise', but it was unfounded as she called back and said she would like to date Miranda, 'but only in proper order'. When Miranda asked Tara what that meant, she elaborated by saying she had to meet her family and ensure them that she has the best of intentions with their daughter. Given they've been happily married for more than four years, it must have went well, though Miranda got an initial stern warning beforehand to clean up her decidedly colorful language and dress more business casual for the dinner at the Ortiz house, there were no issues and Miranda is very close to her in-laws, especially Tara's four brothers and one sister. Close enough that when her father Captain Randy Killgallen came to visit during the Ortiz family reunion, she chose that venue to propose to Tara and not back home in Connecticut.

"Listen. Concerning your situation," Miranda speaks, "I wanted us to make the most of what time we have left, so...do you want to come with us out to eat? We're having Thai food."

I'd love to, but, "I don't want to impose and...do you have a reservation?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Courtney," Tara tells me. "Your not imposing and yes, we did have a reservation, but it was for three. My mom can't make it because of an impromptu dinner party held by a co-worker."

"We don't want you to feel like a replacement, but..."

"Count me in, Miranda," I interject. "I haven't had Thai cuisine in a while." Well, that's part of the reason. The real truth of the matter is that I need my friends who've gone over and beyond for me. If I can get my mind off the fact that I haven't seen Ginger in more than eight years and forget about what Miranda won't let me let go, I should be fine. Yes, I did have a crush on Ginger, but that was so long ago it's a wonder why it even comes to mind. I've been married and divorced and Ginger is still married with a daughter as far as I know, so the issue of love should be one that has far more substance than adolescent admiration.

As long as I keep telling myself that, there should be no issue. This is not a time to be reminiscent. I'm a professional. I'm going back to Connecticut for business, to raise my credentials and gain a windfall increase in salary and benefits while working with a top author on the rise.

Time to get back into my meditation videos before I go home.

Focus on the main goal, Courtney. Come on, Courtney.

"Courtney...Courtney!"

I'm knocked out of my trance. "Oh! Sorry, Miranda. Did I miss something?"

"We'll pick you up from your apartment at 8:30! Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. I'm sorry. I just spaced out there for a bit."

"No worries," Miranda responds. "Hey, I know you have a lot on your mind, so Tara and I will get off the phone and you just worry about having a good time with us tonight, okay?"

"Will do," I answer. "I'll see you two later." With that, they give me their goodbyes and I hang up the phone. Getting a look at the time on the screen of my phone I see that it is 7:30 p.m.

That will at least give me enough time to freshen up for tonight. Perhaps a cold shower is in order after the shock of this afternoon. Maybe from now until I go back home, it should be nothing but cold showers and meditation to hopefully keep me on the right path for this homecoming project.

* * *

If I mention the words 'three by five inches', maybe something else will come to mind, but index cards are probably at the top of the list, but I'll get to those in a bit. Never having the desire for an eight by eight cubicle, I traded it in for working a varied number of hours at home with either freelance writing or my second fictional novel, currently in the brainstorming process.

My workstation is tidy but not particularly overdone, featuring several boxes of my short story collection, memoir and drafts of my first fictional novel to send away for people who've asked for them. Along with that is a large bookshelf with some grammar books, an unabridged dictionary and a thesaurus along with several of my favorite books and classics from all worlds and walks of life. Hanging on the wall is my English and Psychology degrees from New York University, and pictures of family and friends. Off to the side is a stereo system featuring satellite radio as commercial-free instrumentals serve as a tremendous inspiration. On my desk sits pencils, pens, legal pad, a hole puncher, just a few of the aforementioned index cards inside of a case, a cordless phone, a tablet computer and laptop to take online notes and do research.

But not even that equipment is the first thing one notices when they step into my office. Hanging from the ceiling is what I call the Interwoven Web and it is a series of colorful index cards connected by either yarn or twine tied into holes punched in the cards. With this web, I take story points and character notes combining them to give me a benchmark to move stories I write forward and to drive the overall narrative. If I feel the need to push or pull a plot point later or earlier into a story, I simply move the cards to another section of the web, constantly marking off steps completed in the rough drafts, adding and taking away scenarios on cards where appropriate.

It's a most unique idea that came to me last year from my only child when she told me of a rare take-home assignment in kindergarten. Zola Kailani, whom we in the family call Kai, and her classmates had to pick different scenarios from a hat and determine five sequential actions that led to the activity they drew. Each step to their goal had to be specific and could be no greater than ten words in length. It encouraged the parents and children to ask questions back and forth about the best way to map out the scenario. For instance, one does not simply 'buy a new pair of shoes'. You have to first go to a shoe store, get measured for size, look for styles you like, try them on and finally figure out what you want to buy and then you can buy the shoes. I found it fascinating that Kai learned about these same things we did in creative writing courses in college. Granted, at NYU we had several more complex steps and were branching out into different paths and dimensions, but the idea was largely the same and to help her out, we used the index cards from her school supply list.

Yes, I pretty much stole the idea, but it's worked well for this next project I want to do about a young child who writes to his deceased mother and gets responses that cannot be explained. This is my story; one of many, in fact. I am Ginger Foutley-Patterson, an accomplished author, essayist, occasional journalist and now novelist with my first fictional work entitled, _Why Blame When You Can Breathe?_ going on sale this October. I'm married to my high school sweetheart Darren Patterson, who owns and operates a series of health and athletic clubs in the New York Tri-State area known as _Elements_.

It's been both an exciting and rewarding time for me and my family since my short story collection sold over two million copies, but the perks of being a successful writer can run contrary to a desire to maintain and develop new and existing relationships. For instance, I know it's been a few weeks since I've spoken with either Dodie or Macie and years ago, we were as close as the Three Musketeers. Writing has a tendency to be like a jealous lover that does not care for being set off to the side for other pursuits and it shows. That often makes people question me with regard to the 'N' word; neglect, and I understand but resent the notion. It's not as if I go out of my way to do it, but I do this, cliched as it sounds, for the family and I've yet to find a method to write stories on their own.

Maybe I'm overreacting to recent events like Darren saying that I have to make time for what's most important. He's not out of order for saying that, to be honest, but I'm working towards that very goal. I just can't tolerate a formulaic approach to life, though I've found myself in one over the last five months as I've been shopping my novel after an issue with my previous publisher about the number of printed copies made for sale. That matter I ultimately settled without much trouble and no days in civil court. Nevertheless, it cut into serious writing time leaving me frayed at the edges and somewhat reclusive after feeling betrayed by people I thought I could trust.

After that ordeal, I initially shopped the novel around to various publishers and promoters. I soon found them coming to me after the success of other projects and found a suitor across the country in Los Angeles with tremendous credentials and a knack for adapting written works into movies and television shows through their Hollywood connections. I have no idea how to navigate that jungle, so I've put in a lot of money to have an expert public relations liaison come to my hometown and personally work with me in preparation for the launch of the book and any subsequent media deals that may come down the pipeline. As I've told my family, if I can get one movie deal from this, I can retire to other projects and they will get more of me very soon.

Seldom heard at the doorway to my office is a knock, but usually that means that either one or both of the most precious people in my life has come home. "Come in!" I say and in comes a red-headed girl a shade above four feet tall with her backpack across her shoulders and a few sheets of paper behind her back. Kai has just come back from school this Friday and on the advice of Darren I've promised her a 'girl's weekend' with no writing on my end if she got a "B" or better on her math test.

I get up from my seat. "Kai! How are you?"

"I'm okay, mommy."

"So...how did it go? Will we be having our weekend or studying our subtraction drills for the next few days?"

She has this pout on her face that my mom, stepfather and brother always fall for, but I've learned to know better. Kai then sways her hips left and right before saying, "Well, mommy. I'm sorry..." and then she pulls out the papers to show me the 98 percent and large letter 'A' in red ink. Before I can even sigh in great relief, she concludes her explanation, saying, "that I couldn't get a perfect score, but...it was a speed test. I don't want to scribble numbers down that the teacher can't read. You taught me that."

Shaking my head, I get up from my seat with a smile, kneel down and give Kai a hug and a kiss assuring her, "It's all right, sweetheart. I know it wasn't easy, but you got the strategy down and I'm proud of you. This means that you have me for the weekend and I promise you, Kai; no writing or anything to do with my stories until Monday morning, you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," she smiles back to me. "I...I'll let you know what I want to do when we have dinner. I just can't wait to show daddy," she tells me. "He got me the subtraction flash cards and they really helped me. Thank you for your help, too, mommy."

"Oh, of course. I'm always here to help, no matter what it is you need. I know things may seem busy for me or like I don't have enough time, but I want you to know, I will always have time for you, Kai. You hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," she answers as I hear the cordless phone ringing. Getting up from the floor, I check the caller ID and see my husband's name and number on the display.

Picking up the phone, I greet Darren who after asking me if I was all right and if Kai is home inquired, "Did FedEx come with the blueprints today?"

I reply, "Yeah, I put them in our closet for now."

"Were there three cylinders that came with the delivery?"

"Yes, there all here."

"Good to know, hon," he says. "Listen, I'll be a little late getting home tonight."

It's not annoying to hear those words these days. There's not much difference between Darren and I when it comes to our working lives besides where we work. I just wish that fact were more understood from his end, but I will admit to holding an advantage to primarily being home most of the time beyond method writing to get a feel of either exotic locations or to encapsulate myself like a hermit blocking out all distractions to push the writing process into high gear. I cringe at the thought of Kai not being able to present her test to Darren tonight but nevertheless ask, "How late do you think you'll be tonight?"

"Maybe an hour...hour and a half at the most. There's been a delay with some in our team getting to Rhode Island with our updated proposal to potential investors. Apparently a manager ran into a glitch with outdated software on his end and needs some top-down assistance over the phone. At least now that I know our center layouts in Long Island are here, I can start scouting locations either Monday or...if a certain someone did well on her test, I can head out early with the crew and leave the ladies of my life to their own devices."

Staring down at my daughter I see her hop in anticipation and find myself unable to hold it in much longer, but knowing she has to deliver this news. "You want to speak with her and find out?"

"Of course."

"Okay, hang on," I say before handing the phone to Kai who runs off to speak with her father extolling her work, saying, "Daddy! Daddy, you won't believe the grade I got on my test." Beyond that, I hear quick footsteps running up the stairs and I can't help but laugh at Kai's eagerness and boldness that I'm certain comes from a unique combination of Darren and I.

I'd go through hell and back for that girl. Darren knows it's true and as I wind down the promotional aspect of this novel, he'll know it will have been worth it. I'll have 100 percent of my girl and man, no excuses or exceptions.

Oh, that reminds me. On the menu for tonight I have salmon casserole, spinach creamed with Greek yogurt and hot water cornbread. Getting up from my seat, I knock on the wall leading to the stairs and tell Kai to "Wash up and help me with dinner when you're finished, all right?"

I get a call of "Yes, mom," from upstairs and proceed to getting my ingredients together in the kitchen for a Friday night special before I'm all but certain to have two days or so of eating out with Kai.

There's no getting around it but the reality is that when you do things yourself, they are considerably more rewarding. Much like my writing, nothing can compare to a home-cooked meal and preparing it with those you love. Like not finding a method to write on my own, no one has been able to replicate the homemade meal in prepackaged form and perhaps that's for the best in a world resorting to more and more automation and instant gratification.

Here's to less of that feeling and more time to slow down and enjoy life as it comes. As Darren expands the health clubs, my novel takes off and Kai continues to learn and grow, our lives have never been busier but never been more fruitful either. Even with some glaring issues, I have a loving family and a great home.

Could I ask for much more? I certainly don't want to be greedy, but I always want to strive for better in life.

Don't we all?

* * *

I don't make it a priority to malign anyone using my platform, so I'll take a shot at myself first and then go forward. There have been personal issues of my life of a nature I wish not to get into here that caused this delay, however with the time I have, the words have come through for this story in particular this chapter.

I had every intention of releasing this chapter several weeks ago, but I've attempted for only the second time writing fan fiction to use a beta. The primary reason for that was because of some issues I had with keeping some character traits for the story given that several of the last episodes never aired in my country leaving me with mostly the junior high arc to work with and this story projects twenty years from that time. Obviously things change from that standpoint.

I haven't heard from my beta in more than 30 days. I still want one because I'm not perfect and just made last-second modifications to this chapter. I also understand busyness like the next guy, but I really wanted this chapter out soon to establish the two mains and to keep this story active.

Plus in chapter three for 'As Told By Ginger' fans, you know episodes had subplots featuring the younger kids. Well, that will happen in chapter three, but instead of scheming and sabotage of the weird and strange variety, the mission is changing the world for the better. It's not as glamorous as it sounds, but Carl, Hoodsey and Blake have their own role in this story.

Stay tuned, please read and review until next time!


	3. Have News, Will Travel

Why Blame When You Can Breathe?

DISCLAIMER: 'As Told by Ginger' is a creation of Emily Kapnek and is produced by Anivision, Klasky-Csupo and Nickelodeon/Viacom Networks. This author makes no claim to any properties herein and makes no monetary gain from its production. Please do not flame.

(Chapter 3- Have News, Will Travel)

* * *

"Our desire to see a cleaner world is not a new one," says a television reporter doing an editorial on-camera interview. "The desire to attract people to these greener pastures along with the means and methods to get there, however, has changed and continues to change in a manner to bring more individuals towards this environmental shift. The next steps are anyone's guess, but more substance over style in this new green revolution will be much appreciated. And that's the show for this evening. For everyone here that makes this presentation possible, this is David Carl saying thank you and stay tuned for next week's _Next Side Story_. Good night."

He keeps a still face before hearing the floor director say, "And...we're clear!" At that point, the aforementioned David Carl takes a deep breath and walks away from the eye of the camera to grab his bottle of water and drink about half of the liquid with a few large gulps.

As people around him either pat him on the back or tell him 'Well done' for his most recent editorial, this young television reporter either gives his crew members a thumbs up or verbally thanks them. From here, David goes to a dressing room with his name on it, opens the door to find someone he did not expect would be there.

"Jonas!" he exclaims before walking over to his father seated on a couch in the room to give him a hug. Releasing the embrace, he questions his father's appearance at this time. "But I thought that we were going to meet later this evening!"

"Your assistant had an issue with a wild animal that got onto her property," Jonas explains. "Apparently the circus is in town this week. Animal control called and the general area was under lock down for about three hours, but Tricia told me everything will be fine-that there was just some damage to her fence and patio-and thankfully no one was home at the time."

"Well, I don't know how long that peaceful easy feeling will last given that most insurance companies won't cover such strange incidences. What kind of animal are we talking about?"

"A three-year-old black bear and on that note she also said that if insurance gives her a runaround she'll cause more PR headaches than a three-year-old child causes temper tantrums because she works for the media."

Shaking his head, Carl reflects on a time when he would've loved to have seen that happen. Given the closeness to his staff, he's glad everything ultimately turned out well for his assistant, Tricia. "Beyond that, she also wanted me to give you this because she didn't know when she could get back to the office." Jonas gives his son a letter that the young man assertively takes. Known to close family and friends as Carl Foutley, he adopted the stage name 'David Carl' from his stepfather Dr. Dave and using his given name as his surname to differentiate himself from the growing success of his older sister, Ginger.

Carl can clearly see the 'CBS News' logo on the front of the envelope and notices that the return address is in New York, signifying that this letter came directly from the company's world headquarters. Taking it from his father, he cleanly opens the flap and removes the two sheets of paper with the CBS letterhead.

Reading to himself, Carl scans the paper and Jonas attempts to get a read of what the letter means. "It's from the president of the news bureau," Carl clarifies before continuing for approximately another minute and then skimming through the second page and then sitting both pages down onto his work desk.

Curious, Jonas asks his son, "So what kind of news did you get from them? We talked about it a lot and CBS is highly respected in the industry..."

"They're willing to negotiate," Carl interjects. "They liked the fact that I interned for Bloomberg News while in college, so they gave me an option of Northeast news correspondent, business reporting or anchoring their online streaming news network, CBSN on the weekends."

"Were you still open to working in an international bureau?"

Gritting his teeth, Carl admits while grabbing an apple from a fruit basket on the desk, "Not as much now that things are starting to get serious with Ramona." Tossing the golden delicious fruit to Jonas, he reveals, "I mean the BBC America letter was quite the pleasant surprise but after we read about how much more international correspondents make and what it would take to uproot in many other places, we agreed that it wasn't worth it right now. Also if you're going to work for BBC, you might as well work for _the_ BBC."

"So, to clarify," Jonas speaks, "CBS goes into the 'maybe' column for future consideration?"

"Yeah, they were very good as far as treating me well. Right now, though, I don't know if I want to take the route of hard news, commentary or late-night talk. I'm at a bit of a crossroads, Jonas. I don't think I'll ever be in this much demand for my services and I certainly don't want to sign onto a five-year mistake just because of a difference in dollars."

"Have you spoken to your mom and stepfather about this?"

"Yeah, and sadly they haven't been that much help," he responds while taking a seat in his chair. "They mean well, but I think they feel that the most exposure for me will equate to the most success, which isn't exactly true. I want the most success, but not at the cost of sacrificing the integrity of the years I've put into this. I'll be 30 this October and...it feels good to explore these subjects, human interest, politics beyond talking points and the like. I'm not the type to just stand up there and crack jokes to people like Hoodsey and offer levity to the audience. If it comes, then let it come. It has to be natural for me, but my goal is to bring attention to issues in our world people may not have even known.

"I...I like the fact that I can go out shopping for bread and get stopped by someone who saw one of my stories or editorials and it opened their mind up to another side of the issue. Not changing the minds of people-that's not what my job is about. But if I can expose someone to another way of viewing the same picture that I see, I feel I've done what I can and must do in this career."

The way that answer sounded, Jonas believes he already knows the answer to his next question. "What about Hoodsey or Ginger? She knows about fame and he went through finding a new position in this business last year."

Chuckling, Carl responds to his father, "Hoodsey is quite busy as it is with his new position on Showtime among other matters. He's one of the reasons I'm willing to give CBS a shot because they're treating him well as part of their news satire program. He...I suspect has ulterior motives to what he's doing because he sees a situation where he and I can work together down the line for a sketch comedy or as part of the network writing team. I have to ask myself is it a passion of mine? Do I really want to go down that route in this field? I love Hoodsey like the brother I never had, but if we're going to work together or one for another, it has to be the right project, or we're just spinning our wheels. It does help to keep an open mind in these situations, though.

"As for Ginger, she's already in somewhat of a pickle, as you know, with trying to find a publisher and promoter for her new book. That and attempting to balance the household with a precocious six-year old girl and a husband expanding what is already an exceptional lifestyle in business and I'm damn surprised how they can find the time to hold it all together with only 24 hours in a day. I...rarely talk about business matters with my brother-in-law, but I spoke with both of them about a month ago in separate conversations. I told him about my situation and, sure enough, Darren brings up Kai and what she's learning and doing at her age baffles all of us, Lois and Dave included.

"He wants everything to work out for the best and I can't blame him for putting this work in now to expand so that it doesn't interfere with the relationship he has with his daughter in the years to come. He asserts that Ginger puts too many eggs in her basket with writing and I say to him, like I'd say to Ginger, 'Is it worth it for that little girl just like you and the _Elements_ clubs?' He rarely has an answer for me and with two working parents dead set against having her spoiled while trying to strike that right balance of time and effort from both, it's not easy but it is rewarding.

"Now, from Ginger, I'm hearing a bit of contrition on her end...at least when she's being honest. What she'll admit is that she's been self-shopping her book around the clock to publishers to get it ready for the holiday season. That's taken a lot of time and she's had to be away from the home for long periods going through paperwork and contracts, but finally got a helping hand from a firm in Los Angeles that will work to send someone to her, make necessary contacts, act like her counsel in negotiations and hopefully clear up some room in her schedule to make more time for Kai. I hope for her sake...that's she's right because the fact that she works at home as opposed to Darren almost makes this look like it should be no problem at all. But when I have to hear Darren talk of being concerned that he feels Ginger is-he doesn't even want to use the word 'neglect', but that's the impression he gets from talking with Kai in private-that's when _I_ become worried...for all of them but especially my niece."

"I hear you, Carl," Jonas responds. "It's nothing I haven't heard from both of them in recent months. I just hope that this situation doesn't blow up into something it shouldn't, but Kai has to be first priority. I missed my opportunity with you and Ginger, but I'll be damned if there is an issue with my granddaughter and I'm on the sidelines this time. I have just-"

"Jonas!" Carl interjects pointedly, but not loudly. "Hopefully-even though parents in growing pains like this often sugarcoat the truth-it will all work out for the best. As I see it, though," he continues while laying hands on his father's shoulders and looking him square into the eyes, "there's no need to beat ourselves up over the past. It's the past. As I look now, we're here. You're back into our lives, you're helping me with this step in my career, and when I look at your relationship with Kai I'm happy for you. I'm not jealous of Kai because you're in her life. I stopped holding grudges years ago. You're my father and there's nothing I can do about that but decide what role you have in my life. I chose to take you back not out of pity or self-affirmation, but because those old feelings don't do anyone any good. I've forgiven you, we've moved on and...all we have now is what's in front of us."

With head up and nodding towards his son, who is now standing in front of his dressing room mirror, Jonas can't find anything wrong with that. "You're right. Part of me just can't believe I lived that long without recognizing the great gifts I have, but...that was then."

"And this is now," Carl says.

"Are you sure, son," Jonas inquires, "that your friend isn't part of the reason you accepted me? He's eccentric, for sure, but beyond that he's very measured on the subject of forgiveness and redemption. After all, I think that's one of the qualities for...preaching the gospel."

Shaking his head at his reflection and towards the most recent remarks of his father, he remarks "Look, as far as the man upstairs and I, he knows where I stand as far as organized religion. No need to get into that in this room or at this time. As far as talking with Brandon...he gets all of that! In the three years we've talked, we never talk about religion. We talk about life and I do appreciate him respecting my views so I certainly respect his.

"Looking back 20 years, yes I never would've expected him to be a Pastor in the Episcopal Church, but whatever works for him. Brandon is actually the only person that told me something during this new career process that has stuck with me and I've made a point for all negotiations. He said, 'Don't waiver in compromising your values for dollars, but don't clam up in holding to the slanted view of yourself because then you've only made this process about yourself.' It is more than just me I'm thinking about and...have to in order for this to be worthwhile. Speaking with him and not jumping the gun has placed me in a better overall position."

"Well, that's very good to know," Jonas admits, "and I'm glad to see some positive influences rubbing off on you during one of the biggest decisions you could ever make. All I can say given that you've sought the input of myself, your mom, stepfather, best friend, sister, brother-in-law and...Pastor Higsby, right?"

"Yes, but at a personal level, I consider him more of a life counselor than anything else."

"Okay. You've gotten everyone's advice and you know that my happiness for you ranks chief among my concerns. The way I see it, you still have about eight months left on your deal and enough savings to comfortably last about two years. You won't make this decision in that long of time and with the options in front of you, I think you'll be fine." Getting up from his seat, Jonas pats Carl on the back and says, "I also think that it wouldn't hurt to put this in the rear view for a while. Let's have our father-son dinner early. No more talk about business, okay?"

Nodding his head, Carl silently agrees. "Let me just call Tricia and see how things are going at her home and then we can go. What do you have a taste for?"

"Wings," Jonas responds as if the idea was in his head for a while.

"Okay, as long as you don't mind a few shareable appetizers with your wings."

"Of course not, son. All right, make your call when you're ready and I'll be ready."

"Sure. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to change clothes."

"Okay," Jonas says as he makes his way towards his son's dressing room door and shuts it behind him.

Once that happens, Carl locks the door and opens a locked drawer containing his street clothes. He removes them from the locker and changes into them while taking out his cell phone and turning it on. Once loaded he finds one new message on his phone. Investigating further, he reads a text:

_Carl, call me when you get this message. It doesn't matter when, I should still be awake. Great opportunity for you if you want it. -BSG_

Pondering for a moment if he should take this now or wait about an hour or two, Carl looks at when the text was sent to him and sees that it was 2:30 p.m. "So that means given that daylight savings doesn't start until next week, he sent this at 10:30 p.m. his time. It's half past five here putting the time over there at...Saturday, 1:30 a.m. Heck, I'll give it a shot. It's been ages since I've spoken to him." Hitting the right buttons to call this person, he has to go through an automated system of commands given that the call came from overseas.

* * *

Marking paper after paper with red ink signifying either incorrect answers to questions or suggestions for improvement at the end of the paper, it's clear that this young man is in quite the rhythm with his grading. In fact, he's ahead of schedule with this most recent math test and can soon go to bed without having to put off any work for the weekend. The only light inside the work room is that coming from a well-positioned desk lamp and whatever he gets from the combination of street lights, the moon and stars from outside his window.

Feeling a vibration on the desk, he turns to the phone showing an incoming call with the ID showing the name 'Carl'. Putting the papers that have not yet been graded off to the side, he picks up the phone and accepts the call. "Well hello, Carl," he greets quietly.

"Blake! It's been too long."

"I agree, but...that's what 7,000 miles of distance will do to you. Based on my news, though, we can probably change that in the next week or two...if you're willing."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm going to have to keep it down because Morowa and the boys are sleeping," Blake explains, "but the reform government in Zimbabwe is running into a few rocky roads and it appears that a recall election might be coming sooner than later. Not many people know this, but my business partners are keeping their ears on the pavement in Central Africa hoping for a regime more open to freedom of choice."

"We're not talking about something along the lines of an Arab Spring, though, right?" Carl questions. "This does appear to be more of a substantial change in how things have been run there since the leadership change and less fueled by the hype that comes with new media?"

"There's a lot of unrest at the top, Carl," Blake explains. "Say what you will about Robert Mugabe, and trust me many have done just that, but he did keep Zimbabwe from total ruin after their money became worth less than the ink printed on it. When he passed away three years ago, everyone just chomped at the bit wanting to be in control but not taking into account his promises of education as a human right and how to fulfill them combined with the real economic problems that still exist.

"Where there once was dissonance it almost seems to have given way to out and out revolt. I should know because we get the teachers that left there coming at least once a week to Kenya practically begging for work and we're over capacity right now in our schools. Not like back home where there aren't enough teachers, but the opposite where we have too many for not enough students. In any case, me and my business partners have been keeping an eye on the country and if the constitutional republic comes into power, we'll bid to open new schools in Zimbabwe in the next two years. The money is there and once they're willing to contract out to providers like me and a few others, we can come in and just watch a new generation of Zimbabweans flourish in the next ten to fifteen years. I know it will happen."

Taking in what his faraway friend is saying, Carl is happy for the life he's carved in of all places, Nairobi, Kenya; a life that likely would not have been possible had he not met his future wife while in college for research in international education.

It was a big surprise when Blake came back home for Christmas with a fellow classmate of his, Morowa Darko from the Republic of Ghana. They were both education majors who bonded as both were well-versed in French. Blake found out about it while both were in the library as Morowa proofread a letter to home and heard Blake say the written words in English while looking over her shoulder.

Study halls evolved into study dates for the two and a blossoming romance formed as Blake got to know Morowa through simple conversation and both having an interest in spending time outside of school with pursuits like soccer, the arts and cooking for Morowa and sailing along with fencing and chess for Blake. The growing metropolis that is Nashville provided the atmosphere and the shared hobby of music to go along with the undeniable passion for educating youth and strategies they would utilize for the goal of ultimately starting their own school.

After spending a summer in West Africa interning for schools, learning conversational Swahili after losing a bet to Morowa, and getting to meet Morowa's parents, Blake completed his Bachelors and began teaching in Massachusetts public schools for two years while earning his Masters. He and Morowa's relationship seemed to take a permanent back seat as she went back home to teach. Despite the distance, they never lost contact updating each other on their career prospects.

Throughout her time back in Ghana, Morowa worked towards her Masters in Business and towards a plan for educating girls in a part of the world where that can be seen as either too radical or a passing afterthought. She phoned Blake about setting up private schools in Sub-Saharan and East Africa using his contacts and deepening background in education. Within six months and after a combined business pitch from this unlikely pairing, Blake moved with Morowa and about twenty-five teachers to Kenya to incorporate methods he learned through teaching and planning to make an effective school system to outperform those in the nation and the region.

During that time, the two reconnected and their relationship evolved from being friends to business partners and finally a rekindled romance. Blake made the first move about one week after classes began at the newly-formed _Muda na Mavuno (Time and Harvest) Academy _at the celebratory dinner for the new school's staff.

Getting everyone's attention just minutes after orders were placed, Blake offered up a toast. He toasts to God's continued blessings and the best wishes for the fledgling academy. He also thanked everyone for their sacrifices to make what seemed impossible into a reality. From there he turned his gaze to Morowa and admitted, "The fact is, ladies and gentlemen, none of this is possible if not for the efforts and the desire of one person. This person is...someone who I've grown to know throughout the years and now, even though we've had our differences and mutual separations, I simply can't see living life without Morowa Darko as not only a friend or a business partner, but a partner in life, as well." This admission came just before Blake gave her a kiss on the cheeks and told her, "I love you, Morowa."

That night, to the spectators at dinner time, there could be no denying the evident blush on the face of Morowa as she heard all of this. Dinner continued as usual, but afterwards she pressed Blake with many questions including if he felt this way since they split before graduation. Blake said yes and Morowa admitted that she wasn't sure at first, but would like to give their relationship another try.

The try evolved into something increasingly serious and by that summer, the couple were engaged to be married. Nine months later, Blake and Morowa tied the knot on a Mediterranean cruise with a few significant guests including the proud parents of both the bride and groom, their siblings including Courtney and Morowa's siblings, a younger brother Manu and a younger sister Camilla.

Just over a year after that Morowa gave birth to her and Blake's twin sons, Beckett Tyler and Bennett Cameron, now age four. They attend early childhood centers and are about to take the big step towards kindergarten leaving this young but busy family much like Darren and Ginger's. Yet whenever Carl calls Blake, he talks about his family life in the most glowing and idyllic terms. He loves his wife and while far away from family, he cherishes a simpler existence in a bustling metropolis like Nairobi with such loving and welcoming people. They are his _familia_ and he believes he is exactly where he's supposed to be and considers offering young people a first-class education as his passion and life's work.

Carl has to recall why Blake wanted to speak with him, but quickly recalled Zimbabwe. "So this all sounds well and good with the exception of one little issue...where do I come into this story?"

"Well, someone has to cover this story and get the perspective of those who want the recall election," Blake replies as if the answer were so obvious. "Word can travel quicker than I could've imagined when we were kids. I got a call from Brandon about you looking for work and I think this story can really put you on the map if you want it and can get across the reason why this is so important to people throughout the world."

Nodding from his end, Carl acknowledges this truth but also recognizes another factor in Blake's plan. "I know you've got a growing number of academies and networks in South Africa, Namibia and Ethiopia with more nations to come if I'm to believe what your wife says on Facebook. I don't exactly know what Brandon said to you; I'm not so desperate for work, but I am in the buyout period of my contract with the local network so if I want to cover something on my own, I have resources to do it with a nice severance package, but...an elongated stay in a different world? It's tough. I have to plan this out long-term, get myself prepared, dot every "I" and cross every "T" from my end and take care of obligations that don't even count a girlfriend who might chain me to her couch if it meant she could hear me pop the question by the end of this year."

"All understood, Carl. I just know that someone will take advantage of this time to make a move and grab hold of this story. I called to help a friend and if you're not willing then you're just not willing. So...do you want to freelance for some time?" Blake asks, to the point. "Again, there aren't that many Western media members covering this, so a big time story on Zimbabwe could rocket you from searching for a new career to people knocking your door down to work with them."

"I don't even know how long I'd have to stay-or _where _I'd stay. All of this has to be worked out before I make such a decision."

"I tell you what," Blake says, realizing that an answer won't come immediately. Yawning, he looks towards his clock and says, "It's almost 2 a.m. here and I'm starting to fade. I still have your e-mail. I know some great teachers and administrators in Zimbabwe. They're willing to rent rooms to you for a low cost and you won't have to deal with the restrictions that come with staying in a hostel or the super expense of a hotel. I'll call them, get you a list of their names, addresses, e-mail and phone numbers, and you can arrange something through me or them."

"So they'll know I'm calling and will be willing to rent from me for a time?"

"Yeah, give me about a week. I'll only give you people that want to have you there, and I'll also see about having people talk with you for your piece on the possible elections and the impact on education."

Carl can't argue with being given time to ponder this opportunity. This will not only add to his credentials, but bolster his reputation for covering key matters in the world. "Okay, Blake. I'll do some research and get back to you with my decision. Sound fair to you?"

"Yes, it does. Let me know when you can because this situation has the potential to develop very quickly."

"Will do, Blakey. Go get some rest and tell Mo, BT and BC I said 'hello'."

"Okay. Later, Carl."

"Later," he replies before ending the phone call. Checking his phone screen, he sees that the call went longer than he thought and he left his father hanging for nearly 20 minutes. At another place in his life, he would've chuckled at the thought of Jonas getting just a drop of his own medicine, but nowadays such thoughts are barely fleeting as Carl quickly texts his father about a breaking business opportunity he received and having to quickly make the confirmation call. Though both parties agreed that tonight's dinner should will not have any work distractions, Carl will likely bring up this matter of Blake and going to Zimbabwe with his father.

He still has no idea what he's going to do about this, but Carl would not be honest if he said that he wasn't intrigued by the prospect of this story. Obviously, in due time, much consultation will occur between now and decision day with his mother, father, step-father, best friend, girlfriend and Blake.

That discussion will have its place, but for now it's time to get his grub on with his dad. The honey barbecue, teriyaki and mango habanero wings are calling his name and it's a call he dare not leave unanswered.

* * *

A few clicks on his laptop and he will soon connect to his video phone. Robert Joseph Bishop, once known as Hoodsey, has just finished reviewing material for his weekly news satire show _A __Front Page Scroll with R. J._ _Bishop _airing Friday nights on Showtime Network. What separates him from his contemporaries in the business is the lack of shock humor or blue comedy with his show. Preferring a more self-deprecating and engaging form of satire, he's earned praise and kudos from critics and fans alike for being able to garner laughs without foul language and informing his audience like few others can.

Another unique aspect of his work is that while most of the news satire shows take place in New York City, but Hoodsey convinced the executives to tape his show in Washington, D. C. where much of the news affecting his audience is likely to take place. Also a factor in his decision was the fact that his then-fiancee took up residency at George Washington University Hospital and he wanted to be close to her during this time of transition. Briefly looking out of the office window of his home, he redirects his attention to the laptop screen to find a gentleman his age sipping an unknown drink from a mug while a King snake slithers around his neck.

Shivering for a bit, Hoodsey ponders the fact that he'll never get used to talking with someone who willingly lets a snake, no matter how harmless, do that. After the initial shock of seeing Marlon casually meander down Brandon's chest and then up to the computer screen, Hoodsey asks "Brandon, can you hear me?"

He nods, places Marlon on his desk and out of Hoodsey's sight, says yes, then adds "How are you and Macie doing?"

"We're doing well," Hoodsey answers. "She's at work, so I just finished some research early this morning before we head out for breakfast. So what's happening in your world, Brando?"

"Another blessed yet typical Saturday morning in Miami, my man," Brandon admits. "Though by this time tomorrow, I should be in Havana for an Interfaith Conference with a few colleagues of mine and to take some downtime so there won't be any Skype time for me until next Monday."

"Love Havana, man. Enjoy."

"Thanks, Rob. I also got a call from Miranda last week. She and Tara are expecting this October and are planning the baby's dedication around this time next year. They've asked me to preside over those services and I'm sure you'll get an invitation coming your way, but I wanted to confirm that in case you didn't know."

"Excellent! I'm very happy for them."

"But I wonder, out of curiosity...isn't it your turn now, Hoodsey?"

Raising his eyebrows, he asks "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean Ginger has her daughter and Dodie has her daughter and son. They once considered themselves the Three Musketeers and unless I'm missing something, Macie doesn't..."

Chuckling, Hoodsey interjects and kindly informs Brandon to, "Mind your own business, Pastor." Again, Hoodsey's words belie his tone as he has enough of a rapport with Brandon to add, though not necessary, the words, "In due time. It's not as if we haven't put in the work."

That line gives Brandon quite the chuckle and the charge to his friend to 'keep at it'.

Hearing the screen door open, Hoodsey lets Brandon know, "Macie's coming home. I'll have to cut this short. You know, early breakfast, promises; that sort of thing."

"No sweat, buddy. Well say hello to Macie for me and then I'll talk to you next week?"

"You bet! Have a safe trip, Brandon."

"Thanks and God bless."

"You too," he replies and then ends the call and shuts the laptop just as the front door opens. Heading downstairs, he tells Dr. Macie Bishop good morning and then gives her a hug and a kiss.

"I showered at work, so I'll be less than five minutes while I change clothes."

"Take your time, Mace."

"Does The Diner at Adams Morgan sound good?"

Hoodsey nods (he really just wants a good breakfast) and says "Sure," before she gives him a kiss and then goes upstairs to their bedroom.

* * *

A/N: Be sure to leave a review and let me know what you think. Yes, I'm taking the trope from the show where the younger kids had their own side stories and plot turns. Another thing I liked about the show. We'll go back to Courtney in the next chapter. Until then...


	4. Welcome Home, Courtney

Why Blame When You Can Breathe?

DISCLAIMER: 'As Told by Ginger' is a creation of Emily Kapnek and is produced by Anivision, Klasky-Csupo and Nickelodeon/Viacom Networks. This author makes no claim to any properties herein and makes no monetary gain from its production. Please do not flame.

(Chapter 4- Welcome Home, Courtney)

* * *

The embrace currently being given to me just outside terminal seven at Los Angeles International Airport resembles more of a bear hug than a 'see you in six months' hug. I knew Miranda would miss me, but she, Tara and I did have a farewell dinner on Wednesday night for this very occasion. She's on her own early this Friday morning to send me off but despite it all, she's making me believe that she will not let go of this hug even if it meant one of her athletes could sign a 500 million dollar contract.

As I turn my gaze, I have to look at her in the eyes one more time. Is that a...tear? She's got sunglasses on making it difficult to see, but is Miranda actually crying right now? Something's running down her eyes, for sure, and Miranda hasn't done anything to break out in a sweat. If I'm also not mistaken, did she just sniffle? Color me just as surprised as anyone at this development. Trust me when I say this. The last time I believe I saw Miranda cry was her second wedding during her written vows. If you're around her long enough with Tara, you can tell the change she's gone through as an individual. It may not be so obvious but when it tugs at the heartstrings like the thought of her best friend being 3,000 miles away, the breaking point becomes crystal clear.

As much as I could revel in this feeling and tease Miranda for this until her hair turns gray, I do have a flight to catch. After all, that's why I came to LAX three hours early before takeoff. Baggage check, dealing with the ridiculousness of airport security and then being crammed in a jumbo jet for several hours (including, in this case, a connecting flight to Chicago) with far from the best food is not how I imagine a standard business trip but, as you probably know, this is _far_ from an ordinary business trip.

"Miranda," I speak to her while still in her oxygen-depriving embrace. "I know you're going to miss me, but...if I don't get going, I'll have no reason to come back because I'll get canned."

She finally lets go, clears her throat and says, "I'm sorry, Courtney. I just...forgive me. It's-fuck!"

"Spit it out, Miranda!" I interject, not so much annoyed as I was pressed for time in an ardent desire to be punctual. "We knew this was going to come, I know this is difficult, but here we are. Nothing we can do about it but go forward."

"And it sucks!" Miranda admits. "We came to this city as punk kids with dreams, hopes and aspirations to make Southern California our fucking oyster. We didn't know anything or anyone, but we both made our dreams come true. We spent our childhoods one hour away from a city with a mantra that says 'If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere,' and I won't dispute that, but I think we did pretty fucking well for ourselves in the City of Angels. Now I feel like it's the end of an era, Courtney. You're gonna be back east, I'm gonna be a mom soon...I don't know. There's still a part of me that imagined the two of us in a shared home growing old and sitting out on a porch or backyard in rocking chairs painted in our respective school colors talking about the kids and realizing that looking back we've lived tremendous lives. Now your off again. You're my best friend and...after Tara and her family practically my only friend."

"No, I understand," I reply, while cupping her left cheek and cursing whatever tears may fall down my face. That remark about us growing old doesn't phase me nearly as much as it used to. I know Miranda. Tara is the love of her life, but there will always be an extra special place for me. Thankfully, Miranda's second wife is secure enough in herself to respect that and she knows that Miranda won't try anything with me because I've moved past any more romantic pursuits with Miranda. That chapter in my life is closed and will never be opened again.

"It will be different, Miranda," I make clear, "but like you said we've conquered this city. There is nothing we can't do if we set out to make it a priority. It's just that our respective priorities have changed and we've changed. You have Tara and your baby on the way, I've got my business to take care of back home and it just so happens that I also get to help a friend from back in the day. Listen, I'm only one call away and once I get to LaGuardia, I'll let you know."

Nodding, Miranda gets what I'm saying...at least I hope so. "Okay," she concedes. "Your parents..."

"Two problems with that, Miranda. One, due to the time difference I'm going to get there relatively late and two, I'm 32. I'm expected to fend for myself, so I'll either get a rental or an Uber and probably be back home by 11 p.m. tonight. Plus, along with all the stuff in the storage unit for when I'm bound to come back to L.A. and the weeks worth of clothing I've brought, I should be set. Not only that, my Mercedes should be in Connecticut by Sunday. It will be just like home."

"And the fact that you get to live with them and only have to pay a small amount in rent for the next six months..."

"They gave me the sweetheart deal and told me 'You know the way home. We'll have a bed ready for you, but don't expect the red carpet to be laid out for you as this isn't a social arrival.' It is what it is, but...we'll see if their attitude changes after six months."

"If you ask me," Miranda says, with a smile finally on her face, "I think they're calling your bluff. It's been...a few years since you've been home. One more question and then I'll let you go; did they ask you to contact them just before you get home tonight?"

I just nod and then Miranda breaks out into a healthy laugh and then warns me, "Let's just say you shouldn't be shocked if you see at the very least a 'Welcome Home, Courtney' banner when you go back to Sheltered Shrubs."

"Are you sure?" I ask that because I have this feeling in my mind that while I am home for work, my folks are going to encourage me to keep my time there about work. Sure, my mom will certainly dote on me for the deals I've made and dad will admire that some of his business sense beyond insider trading rubbed off on one of his kids, but things are different than when I was 12 years old. Not bad, just different and that includes more frugality and a much more critical eye to adult matters.

"I'll bet you the first five dinners together when you come back that they'll throw a party in your honor. Deal?" She then brings out her hand so we can shake on her bet. No harm in it for me, though when I return it would probably be Miranda and Tara treating me to a welcome back dinner bet or no bet.

I firmly shake her hand, then give her a hug of my own followed by a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Take care Miranda and hold it together while I'm gone. Do you promise?"

Nodding her head, she says, "I promise, Courtney. Now knock it out of the park. Ginger is...a hell of an author. It shouldn't be hard, but...nothing's guaranteed. Roll with the punches and you'll get whatever you're looking for in this job."

"Thanks," I say, holding my thoughts of the actual sincere compliment that Miranda just gave to Ginger. I looked up in the clear blue sky for the scant possibility that a pig just sprouted wings and come back a little disappointed. Evolution really does take time...if one is to believe in that sort of thing.

Miranda has made her way to the driver's side of her bright red Tesla and opened the door. A wave from her and a 'goodbye' causes me to wave back and then turn around in the direction of departures as it's now time to check my three bags and great ready to go to work.

* * *

The phone rings in my office while I'm just minutes from wrapping up my work for the day. Today, most of my writing is going towards an interview I'm doing for a magazine and I'm about finished. Kai got invited to a birthday party/sleepover tonight into Saturday afternoon and I have to prepare her checklist after she gets home from school. My plan was to finish this before then, but most of you already know how plans may go.

Caller ID shows 'Westwood Mktg' on the phone. I've been looking forward to this call as the head of this company, Reid Mackaulay, is the liaison between me and this expert marketer expected to come by Saturday unless those wonderful plans do what they often do. I've only met Mack once at a film festival in Toronto last September. The good publicity from my short story collection allowed a few additional doors to open for me including a supporting role in an independent drama.

While in the lobby before the film premiere, I ran into him and told him about issues with my old publisher and being mostly blackballed by agent houses in the Greater New York City area for daring to raise questions about my business affairs.

After informing him of my writing credentials he agreed to read my memoir, short story collection, a draft of my novel and then get back to me if he saw something adaptable for the screen, either big or small. By the start of the new year, he called me back asking if there had been any changes in my representation. I told him 'no' and then he thanked me for sending him my books. From there, Mack went into pitching me about the number of works he and his company have been able to convert into films. I could tell he wanted me under my wing, but he admitted that the distance makes it difficult. He had nothing but respect for me and my young family and said that he'll sit down and see if he can't get someone to help me here without having to spend several months out of town.

Several weeks ago, he called me to say he finally found an agent for me. Mack admitted that he was somewhat disappointed that he had to part with his best agent to get this done but made it clear that he wanted me under his marketing firm. I asked him to just make sure that the agent comes here safely and to run any legal matters through me before I sign off on anything.

As I pick up the phone, I'm happy to know that Mack kept his word with me as those matters I mentioned haven't taken over my time. Not only that, I've been able to focus on my different pet projects of mine like the multi-part interviews featuring Connecticut women at the top of their respective professions. This month, I'm putting the finishing touches on an interview and personal commentary with one of the top defense attorneys in the state.

Now is the time for me to make a big difference in my major project. Speaking to the other end of the line, I hear a familiar voice. "Hello, am I speaking to Ginger Foutley?"

"Yes, this is she."

"Ginger, this is Reid with _Westwood and Beyond_. How are you?"

"Doing well, and yourself?"

"Great. Listen, Ginger. Your agent is on her way to Connecticut. She knows the way there and has a place to stay so that's all covered on her end."

"Fantastic. If all goes well, I should see her by Saturday, right?"

"That's right. No later than Saturday afternoon."

"So, that's about it except...based on our previous conversations you still don't want to know who this person is?"

I smirk at that question, but then answer, "Mack, it really doesn't matter. Let me tell you this; whenever you've informed me of something, it happened just as you said. Do you know how hard it is not only to take people on their contracts, but also their words? You're a rare breed and I respect that. I trust that when you say she is the best among your crew, you mean it. The fact you told me you were disappointed in losing her let me know you weren't just trying to blow smoke up my backside."

"Okay, I respect your decision and if she's not there by Saturday afternoon, just call me on my cell."

"Will do, Mack, and thank you."

"Is there anything else you'd like me to go through while I'm on the line?"

"No, that's about it," I answer. "Again, you've covered everything and I appreciate it. My daughter's coming home from school in 15 minutes, so..."

"Say no more, Ginger," Mack replies. "Take care of what's most important and though I seriously doubt it will happen let me know of any issues that might come up with the deal. On the other hand, if she's going over and beyond with her strategies you can drop a compliment my way, you understand?"

"I trust your charge will be the utmost professional, Reid, but I have your number just in case."

"Okay. Best wishes, Ginger."

"Same to you, and take care."

"Thanks," I say before hanging up the phone and then leaving my office to go to the front door. I usually don't wait by the school bus stop for Kai because it is less than two blocks away from home. Tonight, however, is not a regular night as Kai has her first overnight sleepover with a few of her classmates.

When Darren gets home, we'll get together with her and gather everything she needs for the party. It's something we've been talking about for the past four weeks and we're all happy for Kai finding friends and growing so quickly.

My mom, bless her, told me that I would be amazed at how quickly Kai would grow up. As I make my way to the bus stop to get my girl prepared for the first of many potential social gatherings, I start to reminisce. I like to do that less and less the older I get for many reasons, but when it comes to Kai it always confirms what mom told me. She's been right more often than she's been wrong...on most matters.

For a six-year-old, she is like me in her desire to learn and a noticeable amount of creativity. It wouldn't surprise me if she had a school path similar to my brother's friend Blake and skipped a grade or two. In due time, like all things, but going along with her educational exploits I also notice she is always reminding myself, Darren and her fellow classmates to keep a smile on their face. She's popular relative to a first grader, but doesn't let that get to her head at all.

As I wait for the bus, I hope Kai can keep a tight circle of friends. Though we may not meet up as often now as in high school, I so value our time together and am glad to know that all of us are doing well. Macie and Hoodsey, a pairing I certainly didn't think would happen, are doing tremendously in our nation's capital. Macie is moving up the ranks as an emergency physician while Hoodsey, also known as R. J. Bishop, does his weekly TV show to great success. I know it's prime viewing most Friday nights for Darren and I. Then there's Dodie. I would've never thought she would end up in Delaware as an assistant to a judge in corporate law. Dodie _Zipper_, married with children to our old classmate Chet, is also an adjunct law professor at the University of Delaware and would like to either become a judge in the state (they call them 'Chancellors') or enter into state house politics. She does all of that while Chet splits his time between being on the board of directors for the largest solar power utility in the state and crafting handmade furniture. Between them they have two kids, a five-year old daughter named Dana Jolene and a two-year old son Cody Samuel.

We've all made a success of our lives and I am firm in my belief that it wouldn't have happened without the support of one another. Well, I see the bus now as it's making a stop before it comes my way. I'll soon be walking Kai home and getting her ready as, just like me in first grade, the 'no homework on Friday' policy remains in effect...unless something changed for this particular weekend.

As the door to the bus opens, about 15 or so kids file out with Kai being one of the last to get off the vehicle. She waves to me and we come together in a big hug while I steal a kiss on the cheek. We walk home together and I get the ball rolling with some conversation.

"Are you ready for tonight, Kai?"

"Yes, mommy," she answers.

"So no homework tonight, right?"

"Right." I figured as much but just needed to be sure.

"Okay. Daddy should be home soon and everything will be ready then. You excited?"

"Yes. My first sleepover with friends, mommy! Not grandma, grandpa or Uncle Carl, but friends!"

I have to chuckle. Her enthusiasm is infectious and I wish I could bottle that and get a daily supply. Perhaps the answer is there all along given that she's a kid. There is no reason, other than 'because', for her to be happy and she just is. We can learn a lot from kids if we take some time and not overthink life as much as we do these days. I know I learn so much from Kai and hope to do the same as she's bound to learn from me, including a few details as we get back home.

"Kai, let's go inside and we can talk about my first sleepover. Sound good?"

"Was it with Aunt Dodie and Aunt Macie?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Cool! I'd love to hear it!" she says as we enter our home. Beyond that story about my first sleepover I do have a few planned words of advice for Kai. They include just being herself, enjoying the party, being respectful of her friend's parent's home and-most important-having fun. She knows her home phone number including me and Darren's cell numbers in the event of an emergency. I'm sure she knows most of this by heart, but I don't mind telling her again and making sure she's on top of these details.

Kai is quite observant and receptive to what Darren and I teach her. Not only that, when it's time for her to learn a lesson, even when it's not explicit, she gets it. I couldn't ask for more in a child and for all the success in my life, including the future successes to come, she's my greatest accomplishment.

No question.

'Wait a minute. What's this?' I felt a vibration in my pocket and that means someone is probably texting me. I'm doing all I can to keep any work away from Kai tonight in the event that this message is work-related so I tell my daughter to go upstairs and that I'll be just a minute.

She happily obliges and the moment I no longer hear footsteps going upstairs, I pull out my phone and notice a message from Claire Gripling. It reads:

_Surprise welcoming party at the Gripling House tonight starting at 10pm. Light __hors d'oeuvres, drinks and desserts will be served.__ You and Darren are invited. RSVP via text by 8pm. -Claire_

I have to shake my head, but I should first explain. Prescott and Claire Gripling now live...no more than five minutes from Darren, Kai and I. We personally don't like to consider ourselves rich, but such are the perks of a growing businessman like Darren and a best-selling author like yours truly. We _are_ well-to-do...so I suppose you could calls us-anyway, every couple of months or so, they'll have a get-together with neighbors, friends or other guests of honor, including surprise birthday parties. After working his way back from the insider trading scandal for reasons I'm still not sure, both Griplings have made concerted efforts to make a greater impact within our community.

Darren and I have been to a few of the parties and while they are not as extravagant as a birthday party for their children when we were kids, they are still quite a lot of fun. Many are done for certain causes that have arisen like someone losing a job and needing assistance with bills or rent. Another one was to welcome new neighbors, yet another party was held for one of my old classmates, Mipsy, graduating from the University of Chicago Law School and another one of note brought attention to helping local Wish Kids. I do admire them for keeping us aware of these matters, but I also feel that the rest of us in the neighborhood can do similar things. It doesn't take money as much as it takes awareness and organization to do what the Griplings are doing right now.

Some of the parties, like this one, are impromptu. I hadn't heard anything about someone being welcomed, but it might be another of Gripling's old friends. They tend to be frequent guests of honor and, to be honest, many of them can be a lot of fun. I don't know. Friday's would _usually _be spent with my husband and daughter, but Kai is going to her sleepover leaving me and Darren to our own devices for the night. We had no plans beyond watching Hoodsey's show, which we can certainly DVR for another time. It's possible he could be interested. I'm...kind of interested, but I don't want to confirm anything until we talk.

As I head upstairs, I put my phone back into my front pocket. Kai comes first tonight. Regarding the party, I'm all but certain Darren got a similar text from Prescott. Their quite persuasive in a manner of speaking. So should we decide to go, Kai obviously can't call home for help. I'll just have to let her know that the first call she should make would be to either of our cell numbers, but I'm sure she'll understand. She's been to a couple of surprise parties with us. We'll just let her know that that's were we are just in case.

_Que sera sera_ as far as that's concerned, though. For now, it's story and prep time for Kai and I.

Oh and what a time it is, indeed, for my family and me.

* * *

So baggage claim went well, I had no issues with my ticket or boarding pass, the security line was short given the time of the day, and I sat in a window seat on United Airlines flight 1427 to Chicago. The layover in O'Hare lasted about 90 minutes at which point I was able to eat a late lunch, secure the Uber and then before I knew it I touched down at New York's LaGuardia Airport just before 9 p.m. rested and ready to come home. While here, I make good on a promise and shoot Miranda a text.

Beyond vacation time, I don't make that many trips outside of California. There just isn't any need given that most talents I consult come to me. It feels strange not having to concern myself with things like my departure ticket or the weather for the trip back to Los Angeles. In that case I might have to skim through a farmer's almanac, but there are a lot of things I'll just have to get used to while on my present journey.

For instance, as I recollected earlier this morning, I don't have the use of my car for another two days. My car brings with it a level of independence that is undeniable, but also reflects upon my present situation perfectly. Here I am in a situation that is familiar in helping a talent get to where she wants to go in her career. Despite that, and for all my success, I feel as if I come into this situation at a disadvantage. When I don't know the person at a personal level, it's obvious that I must keep things professional. But the moment I come through Ginger's door and announce myself as 'Courtney Gripling of _Westwood and Beyond Marketing_' I just know that we aren't going to be rolling off the tarmac properly.

I'm here to work, no doubt. Ginger might think that I'm sent from heaven above once she sees me. She might consider my presence after so many years as a good omen, but...I can't lie. None of that matters to me. I go into a professional atmosphere and don't want to leave my relationship with said person in those strict confines. I do want to be friends with her while I have this job to do, at the very least, and I don't see that as an outrageous idea. She, along with Miranda much later, was probably the best friend I ever had and I only became better friends with Miranda after my brief time with Ginger. That's the good news, for sure. I just don't get why Ginger loves surprises so much that she told Mack she didn't even care who would come through the door of her home. Credit it to blind faith or Mack's magic touch, but she's unknowingly got me on eggshells for the next 12-18 hours between now and our initial meeting.

There will be time to consider that later as my Uber ride is here. I've been outside the LaGuardia arrivals for about 10 minutes holding up a sheet of paper with my driver's name for this very moment. His name is Sean and he helps me put my bags into the trunk of his BMW.

We chat for a bit. I explain that I'm here on an extended business trip and Sean tells me that he's doing this to supplement his income for his main position as an attorney for the New York/New Jersey Port Authority. The talk actually makes an hour-long trip breeze by as before I know it, we're on I-95 en route to Connecticut. Around this time Miranda responds to my text telling me to be safe and that she'll be keeping me in her prayers. I respond with a simple 'Thank you. I love you'.

Sean and I ask each other some varied questions about our work including our clients and a standard work day and as I go back to the reason why this assignment is so unique, I hear a familiar street name spoken from the on-board GPS. Just a few more minutes and I will be home at...about 10:30 p.m. I give my mom and dad a text letting them know that I'm on my way and just seconds later they thank me and tell me that they'll see me when I get there and to just ring or knock when I arrive.

As we pull into the neighborhood, I can't help but notice several cars parked near the tennis courts about a block from my folks' home. Their driveway is clear as the garage holds both their cars. Sean parks the BMW in the driveway and we work together to get my bags out from the trunk.

"Thanks, Sean," I tell him shaking his hand.

"You're welcome, Courtney," he replies adding, "Good luck signing your friend up to the agency."

"Thanks, I'm gonna need it. Take care and keep those guys in the Port Authority on their toes." Sean gives me a sly smile and then makes his way back to his home in Brooklyn.

As I turn around, the realization sets in; I'm back home. Not in the home I grew up in, but this place will take some getting used to and I'll have plenty of time to do just that. It's dark inside, I see no light and one could presume that no one is home.

I bring my bags up to the front porch and then open the screen door. Heeding the words from my folks' text, I ring the doorbell twice. After a second I hear someone inside the house say, "It's open! Come in, Courtney!"

That sounded like my father, so I turn the handle and find myself having to quickly adjust to scenery changes. Suddenly the houselights come on and several people pop out of hiding to yell, "Surprise!"

I look up for a bit and...I won't lie. My first thought as I saw the 'Welcome Home, Courtney' banner was not about the bill of goods my folks tried to sell me about not being overly exited for my return. It wasn't even about the planning that must have happened to pull this off and make me not believe that several of my old neighbors and friends would convene in my parent's home. My first thought, as mom and dad come up to me for hugs and kisses, is that Miranda knew this is exactly how things would take place.

'I don't know how she called it,' I ponder while still holding a face of downright shock. I don't know why I didn't expect this...but I'm certainly glad to have it. Not out of ego, but encouragement.

My father, Prescott, has a vice-like grip on me, surpassing that of Miranda's from earlier this morning. I should've known. It's been a long time since I've been here, but the moment they wrapped their arms around me, it felt like I've never left. It was overwhelming, no doubt. They had me for a bit but I don't care. It's so damn good to be back.

After exchanging personal pleasantries with me, Mom and Dad reached over towards a glass table grabbing two flute glasses filled with champagne. "Attention everyone!" dad says to the attendees.

They quickly quiet down and I hear dad say, "I want to propose a toast. I feel as if those of us who have children will understand me when I say...that we have absolutely nothing but the best expectations for our kids. I'm quite comfortable in saying that. The good Lord has blessed Claire and I with two children. Blake, who's doing absolutely fantastic work with the education of girls in East Africa along with his wife Morowa, and Courtney, who is making a tremendous mark in the entertainment and marketing world in Los Angeles.

"Many years ago, I would've been...ecstatic had you told me that one of my kids would follow in the footsteps of their father and enter the business and financial world. My time away gave me more than just perspective. I had so much time to think and while matters developed at home, like Courtney going to UCLA for school and Blake foregoing the Ivy League, I was still proud of them. No matter what, they were doing what they wanted to do. That made all the difference for me.

"Maybe they did things I didn't understand at first or wasn't sure of, but...they had to forge their own path. Where they are in life is where they are meant to be, and looking with a keen eye, that's just fine. I'm so thankful for my loving wife and being in the land of second chances. I'm also thankful for everyone coming here this evening on such short notice. Once we got the word from Courtney confirming that she'd be here on time, we started getting everything ready. I really appreciate you all making my only girl feel right at home.

"Speaking of that," my dad says, directing these comments my way, "Thank you, Courtney. You've been, all at once, a tremendous joy, a true test for your mother and I, a free spirit, a headstrong working woman in your profession and probably the reason why most of my hair is now gray." Okay, looking back that is probably true and I do laugh along with the house guests. I don't mind poking fun at myself once in a while.

"But most of all," he continues, "You've been exactly who you were meant to be, a good person, and the best daughter a father could ever want. Good luck with your business deal and all other endeavors you face during this time."

Dad raises his glass and Mom joins him, saying, "To our daughter and your good friend and loved one, Courtney Gripling!"

The guests, in unison, chant 'Hear, hear!' while clanging their flute glasses together. Now as I turn my focus away from my folks, I get a good view of those in attendance. Many are neighbors I got to know after our first move from the mansion and our second move to Hartford. A few are relatives and a scant few more are classmates. I do my best to greet everyone and thank them for coming while also declining every single offer of champagne given to me. Will power is the name of the game this Friday evening.

I don't mind the occasional glass of bubbly, but a morning hangover is the last thing I need. Certain beverages to me are like potato chips-I can't have just one. There's no drinking problem for me and no, I'm not in denial. Like gambling, I know and keep my limits for social gatherings where I'm not wearing my business hat. I would prefer, for tomorrow, a perfectly clear head as opposed to a slightly buzzed one. Thankfully, everyone understands as I get no grief for saying 'no' to at least five offers.

The party lasts until just before midnight as the light refreshments keep the celebration at a moderate level for the evening. Most guests actually leave around 11 p.m. and, frankly, that's perfectly fine by me. I do need my sleep and as people file out, I lend a helping hand with my folks to clean up. Even that is no problem as just a few dishes and glasses need to be washed while a few prepared food containers are thrown into the recycling bin.

After finishing the dishes I wash my hands in the sink. Dad walks up to me and after tapping me on the shoulder he asks, "Did you enjoy the party?"

"Yes, sir," I respond. Looking around I ponder, "Where's mom?"

"She went to bed," he answers. "Your mother planned most of this party, so I don't blame her if she's tired. You can thank her in the morning. Look, Courtney, I'll be up early to meet up with my club members for golf, so if you don't see me, that's the reason. I...I don't want you to be concerned. Both of us invited the Patterson's, they accepted on short notice and were here, but...about half an hour before you arrived they told us they had to leave for an emergency. I think something happened with their daughter. Claire told me before going upstairs that it wasn't urgent, but they had to bring her back home."

Just my luck. I bring my head down for a few seconds. No use in lamenting what could have been. This social gathering would've been a great time to break the ice. As my dad further explained, the party would have not one but two planned surprises. One, the obvious, being my return back East and two, the revelation that Ginger's public relations mediator would be yours truly. I'll never fault parents for being there for their kids at the drop of a hat and I'm glad that, based on what I'm hearing, Ginger's daughter will be fine.

"Thanks for letting me know, dad," I tell him while patting him on the shoulder. "I know you did what you could, but it just wasn't meant to be. Nothing I can do about it except go to her home. She's in for one whale of a surprise tomorrow...and I don't say this for you to blab to anyone, but it's her fault."

That got a hearty chuckle out of my dad and a shake of the head before he assures me, "No one will know. Go get some sleep, Courtney. Tomorrow's...just make tomorrow fun, okay?"

"As fun as my work can be, which is a lot, I'll do my best. Good night, dad." He tells me the same adding a kiss on the forehead and I go up the stairs to a hallway with several rooms. After looking around for a bit, I notice one door with a sheet of paper taped to the outside. I see the faint pencil marks with the words 'Courtney's Room' written. I remove the sign and see a little bit more on the bottom left. It's a note asking that I speak with mom before I see Ginger on Saturday. Opening the door to the room, I find my luggage at the foot of the bed as expected. My dad took a break from the party to send it up to this guest room.

It's a pretty conservative room painted in a light yellow with matching sheets on the queen size bed, a small closet, two side tables with matching lamps, a flat screen television attached to the wall over top of a dresser drawer and a door leading to what I can only presume is the guest bathroom. Opening the door confirms that to be true as someone hung new washcloths and towels for use.

"Well, time to make myself at home," I declare before opening one of my bags containing toiletries. I've been traveling for too many hours to count on top of a nice little party. It's now time to wind down and get back in gear. I undress to take a shower and reopen the bathroom door to wash away the smell of fervent travel.

I'm ready. Strange enough 3,000 miles in the air, a three hour time zone difference, a hour-long car drive and two hour party didn't tire me out that much. But the moment I saw a room and a bed, the yawn birds made their presence felt.

So maybe I won't get eight hours of sleep tonight. That's fine. I honestly can't remember the last time I've done that. If I get a deep sleep for six hours, though, I'll be fired up and ready to bring my "A" game.

I'll need _that-_my best work-even more than a good night's sleep...even though they tend to go hand in hand. The point is, I need to hit these showers and then lay my head down with the intention to dream visions of signed contracts and promotional dealings.

As I've learned, think on the right things. Do that and it doesn't matter where you stand, your grass will be green.

Damn, I'm on another tangent. Keep thinking about that and I'll wake up in a cold sweat...or worse.

* * *

One tradition in the Ortiz-Killgallen household for most Friday nights is sitting down to a series of movies with each wife choosing two of their own. During slow parts, like this one in an action movie, Miranda enjoys cuddling with Tara. They are not yet at the point where the baby bump interferes with foreplay, but Miranda knows that that time is soon to come.

For now, Miranda makes the most of the moment by making her queen feel just like that by rubbing her bare feet with scented warming oils. They claim to 'heighten sensual awareness and provide an obvious point of contact for the optimum pleasure for you and your partner'. Dubious by the inability to fact check such language, it makes no difference to either woman as they do find sex to last longer and be much more fulfilling combined with pregnancy; something they were told to anticipate.

While doing this, Miranda hears her phone by the side table of their bedroom. It's not a phone call but a text. Despite that, Miranda stops her foot rub and grabs her phone much to the chagrin of her wife. "Really, Miri? During our time?"

Looking back towards Tara, she gives the younger woman a skeptical look. "What?" she questions while bringing the phone with her back to her wife's location at the foot of the bed. "It could be business. Just one minute and we'll get back to _our_ business." Turning on the phone, she sees one message from Courtney. Opening the message, she sees a photo showing the lobby of a home with a large banner hanging from the walls with the words 'Welcome Home, Courtney' and a five-word caption at the bottom reading, 'You have five. Choose wisely.'

Miranda laughs like she has no care in the world. Tara turns her head wanting to know what was so funny about that message and Miranda just shows her...

Causing Tara do to the exact same.

After coming off their laughing spell, Tara has to admit what Courtney already knew. "You sure know how to call them, Miri!"

Soon it will be time to book reservations for the best five-star restaurants in Southern California for their 'Welcome Back' to Courtney this fall.

* * *

A/N: Chapter five will focus on the boys again while six has the Courtney/Ginger confrontation...finally. Anyone wanting some further insight into this story, I recommend they check out my deviantArt page (address in the profile) for character and story notes of mine. If you have a request for any character, you can leave it there or drop me a PM.

Until next time, this is Rave!


	5. A Working Process

Why Blame When You Can Breathe?

DISCLAIMER: 'As Told by Ginger' is a creation of Emily Kapnek and is produced by Anivision, Klasky-Csupo and Nickelodeon/Viacom Networks. This author makes no claim to any properties herein and makes no monetary gain from its production. Please do not flame.

(Chapter 5- A Working Process)

* * *

"This is really getting on my fucking nerves, Carl," says a young woman pacing in the living room space of an apartment. She is six feet, two inches tall, slender and brunette with straight hair falling down to her mid-back. She's clothed in a white buttoned-down blouse with a black knee-length skirt, matching tie and modest black heels. Beyond that, and perhaps most important to her audience of one, she's very angry. She is Carl's girlfriend Ramona Sheffield. "Look, don't get me wrong. I admire what the Griplings do overseas. Hell, I donate to their cause every year for that very reason. Where I have to draw the line is that we talked about a situation just like this at the start of the year. You come to me right before our date tonight to give me the news that you're going with your father to Harare, Zimbabwe in ten days. No, I was not aware of the issues with the new regime in that country and perhaps that's ignorance from my end." As Ramona stops pacing and looks Carl dead in the eye from across a coffee table, she informs her boyfriend and fellow reporter, "But the fact is, Carl, you have responsibilities _here_. You have a life here. Damn it, I don't want to be in a position where you jet set to wherever there is news because of your oh so principled stance in journalism. That's all well and good, but do you really want to freelance for that long before finding a full-time position? Principals never paid the bills so take a little interest in what's in front of you right here and right fucking now and get with the program!"

"Ramona," Carl begins with a tone that ebbs a feeling of wanting to be anywhere but here at this moment, "I understand this sounds like something that came out of nowhere, but like I told you and the rest of my family, nothing is off the table. I believe if I knock this piece out of the park, I won't have to worry about my career prospects much longer. Again, I won't be long. Most of that time will be spent interviewing people on the ground, getting their perspective and then I'll stay with the Griplings for about a week before coming back home. Look, I don't do any of this with the intent of pissing off the people I care for. That's not why I do this and you know it!" Carl, at this point, stands up and holds Ramona by her shoulders. "You also know that I'm not interested in making you feel like you're not important. Think about it; if an opportunity to be a lead anchor or part of a national sports network came up for you, wouldn't you do whatever you could to take it?"

She shakes her head in response to Carl and softly pushes him back from his embrace, admitting, "I don't know what to say about this. I suspect a pattern from you that I can't...I don't know. Carl, be honest with me. What are we doing? We're coming up on two and a half years together. Neither of us are getting younger and...I wonder about you. Where do you see yourself in the next few years and am I as great a part of your life as you claim I am? A girlfriend would like to know these things before their significant other announces, 'Hey, love. I'm going to Zimbabwe with my dad and then to Kenya to visit a friend. I'll be gone for about two weeks or so. Take care.' I understand some of it, Carl. You've got work and I appreciate someone taking on a project like this, but at least have the common fucking courtesy to tell me that you're going overseas before you decide to do it! That would be nice to hear from you before it actually happened."

Carl grits his teeth. He knows that his desire for this project to work clouded a better sense of judgment, especially concerning his long-term girlfriend. He got plane tickets, notices to his landlord, necessary vaccines and a loose itinerary from Blake, but waited to tell Ramona and, with the exception of his father, the rest of his family. Why did he do that? Why wait for a date to do that? Was it that he was so consumed with this assignment that he just forgot? That might be it as he nods to Ramona and says, "You're right. I...I screwed up, Ramona. I'm sorry. I'm more than my work. I guess there were a few things I really wanted to do while in Harare that clouded my decision. I've personally seen Blake maybe...three times since he and Mo had their boys. They are practically my family given Blake made me one of the godfathers of his twins.

"Blake aside, this will be the first major news story I do with Jonas," Carl admits. "When he came back into our lives, I learned that he was doing camera work for area theaters and clubs as side work. I got him some contacts in New York, and he got a job with one of their production companies allowing us to do some small projects but this will be our first big project together. Time was of the essence, as well, because movement on this issue just took place. A rally for the recall election is set to take place in two weeks. If I strike while the iron is hot, we can tell a much better story." Before Ramona can raise her opposition to Carl, he adds, "I know you don't want to hear that. All I can say is that I made an honest mistake. At no point-at _no point_\- did I take this assignment to hurt or neglect my friends and loved ones. I'll do better."

"Saying you're gonna do better and showing me you're gonna do better are two different fucking things!" Ramona yells. "I don't _see _progress in our relationship and to me, that's a problem! I've been hearing everything under the sun from you, Carl. How many fucking times do I have to hear that you'll do better yet find you right where you started? Nothing's changed! You claim that you're more than a journalist, but that's hard for me to believe. You're practically joined at the hip to your work. When we scheduled a date for tonight, I felt like I hit the lottery! Now that you've thrown this bullshit on my lap about an overseas project, it feels like the numbers on the ticket were for New York and not Connecticut."

"It's not bullshit, it's work and you know this!" Carl counters, now feeling his level of annoyance beginning to rise. Twirling his right index finger above his head, Carl explains to his girlfriend, "I do this for the apartment, to put food on my table and to give you nights like this. Lately, though, I feel you've been getting complacent; almost like you expect it instead of just appreciate it. Beyond that, Ramona, if you want me to change something it wouldn't hurt to let me know by-oh, I don't know-talking to me and explaining what's wrong! I can't fix something on my car if I don't know what the problem is. A relationship isn't so damn different! So what's up? Be clear with me and tell me what's up?"

Nodding her head and taking a few deep breaths, Ramona walks up to Carl and asks slowly, "Where are we going? I'm not talking about this date. I didn't just ask you 'Where are _you_ going?' because I want you to, for once, not think about yourself and your career. We are a couple and couples evolve. Yet we've remained boyfriend and girlfriend all this time. So I'll ask you again, Carl, where are we going and please be specific."

Carl wants to put a lot of thought into this before giving his girlfriend an answer. To him, it sounds as if Ramona will refuse to have it any other way. He does love Ramona, for sure, and isn't ignorant to what the woman is inferring with her remarks. At the same time, a part of him, because he's somewhat peeved that he has to go down this road, wants to answer Ramona's question with a smart-aleck question of his own: 'Where do you want our relationship to go?' Then again, Carl knows how angry Ramona can get when she's poked in the wrong place. The thought of what she would like to know concerning Carl's answer to her pointed question is more than a little frightening, but he also knows that the woman would prefer that he be honest.

"Ramona," Carl begins. "As cliched as it might sound to you, this really isn't about you; it's about me. As far as I'm concerned I see the both of us in love, together and happy. I...I'm sorry, but if you prefer me to be honest then I have to tell you that the one place I don't see us going to is the Fairfield County clerk's office. I just don't see myself getting married. Frankly, I don't see the point. I never did."

"Carl!"

"What do you want?" he interjects before Ramona can air her grievances. "If I lied to you, I'd be a horrendous, self-centered son of a bitch. At least give me _some_ credit! I'm telling you the truth!"

"No!" Ramona counters before grabbing him by his shirt collar. While pointing to her boyfriend, Ramona makes it clear to Carl that, "You get no credit for being an asshole. The truth, Carl Michael Foutley, is that you _are_, in fact, a fucking self-centered son of a bitch and you are horrendous! Why not tell me this a few months ago instead of leading me on this wild goose chase for a diamond ring?"

"Well, why not just ask me about getting married if you really meant it?" Carl counters. He then takes two steps away from the shirt grab to inform his girlfriend, "I mean, you're the empowered one! You talk so much about how your father and mother raised you independently where you were taught never to depend on a man for anything! You think I didn't dig that shit in some respects? You are you're own person. You don't need me to define you and vice versa. You're strong! Super strong. Do you really think that isn't a reason why I am attracted to you? You take charge, you lead the way and keep me on my toes. You don't mind being number one and I admire you for that! You defy convention like no one I've ever met in my life so perhaps it shouldn't surprise you that I thought you didn't like traditional bull crap like me proposing in the most romantic of settings. I had an idea of what I thought you wanted, but clearly I was wrong. We obviously haven't been talking like we should have. I had a feeling you were going to just ask me about it one random day, but you put me on the spot so here we are. We both should have been more open. Not just bragging about the money we make or our respective career prospects, but the matters that affect both of us. And on that note, for all the talk about you wanting commitment from me, _you_ still won't accept my offer to move in with me! Why? Is it that you're afraid of losing some of that independence you crave so much?"

Ramona shrieks before she yells, "Screw you, Carl!" and then walks towards the front door.

"Why?" Carl asks as he attempts to prevent her from leaving. "Why 'screw me', Ramona?"

"You just don't get it! It was never about independence, it's about commitment and I mean _your_ commitment! It's about me carrying more of a load in this romance than what I can bear! As you chase world affair stories for your professional future, I don't see that same passion to secure your personal future because apparently you don't see the fucking point! It's like _I_ have to be the standard bearer for our relationship. I'd at least like to see you take some initiative, but you're so wrapped up in your projects and assignments that you can't even string together ten words in a sentence concerning you and I to your friends and family."

"That's not true and you know it! Come on, that's just anger!"

"It's not about anger, and why do you feel the need to lie-you know what? Fuck this date, Carl. I'm going home."

Shaking his head, Carl walks up to Ramona and reaches for her near shoulder. "Come on, Ramona. Let's talk about this..."

Feeling the touch of her boyfriend's hand on her shoulder, she rejects it by turning around. She says, "Get the fuck off of me!" while shoving Carl hard enough that he has to brace himself against the wall to prevent falling to the carpeted floor.

He rights himself after about three seconds before taking a step forward and exclaiming to his girlfriend, "Not cool, Ramona."

"Doesn't feel good, huh mother fucker? I tell you what. If you feel so confident that this trip to Zimbabwe and then Kenya will open many doors for you, then by all means go with your father, enjoy, have fun, learn, get your interviews and be merry as a fucking lark. But when you come back home, because I know you'll have a lot of time to ponder many matters in your life, give it to me straight about where you see us so that I can make a more informed decision about this relationship or it's over! If you come back with a better perspective, I won't hold the question about marriage over your head and will personally let you decide when it's time to pop the question. But if you find my demands to be too much for you, then we'll just go our separate ways, Carl! It's not that complicated, yet you're acting like I gave you a comprehensive exam on linear fucking algebra!"

"But did you have to shove me to let me know you didn't want to be touched, Ramona? Look, I'm fine. Let me explain something to you. I wanted us to have this night because of the assignment! I'm gonna be back out there and you shouldn't have to worry about me. Things are bound to get better soon! Can't we talk some more about this over dinner?"

"I've lost my appetite," she responds laconically. "If you want anything out of this night, then just take what I said to heart. But, I'm pretty fucking pissed off at you, Carl. You do a lot of dumb shit intentionally and you seem unapologetic for most of it."

"Ramona, please. Intentionally? I don't..."

Raising her hand up in protest, she interrupts whatever Carl was about to say to inform the young man, "I think you have cold feet. I understand if that is happening and you have some concerns about what married life will mean. That's fine. At some point, though, you put on your big boy pants and make a decision. Not just for you, but for us. I can't make it for you so you either get it together or you won't have me as 'the lead' for much longer, okay? Okay. Goodnight, Carl."

With those words, Ramona Sheffield left Carl's apartment without much fanfare and not slamming the door behind her to leave an obvious parting shot.

Carl is left to comprehend all that has happened inside his apartment on his own. He had no intention whatsoever of hurting Ramona, but the news coming out in the manner that it did obviously left a dent in those plans and more than a few ruffled feathers. He'll give her time to cool off, but for now he's all dressed up with nowhere to go. Taking a deep breath, he takes a seat on his reclining chair and ponders how he got to this 's in trouble, but he'll find a way to get out of it. A night to think things over and figuring out how much the good outweighs the bad will do it. He'll concede that being more considerate to his loved ones comes with that and he knows that he can't have anymore screw ups, but the same can be said for his profession.

He's on edge, but is doing his best to not let those around him know that he could crack under enough pressure to form carbon from diamonds. Carl's main aspiration is that all his efforts will shine just as brightly. Only time can tell.

* * *

"Are you okay, Robbie?"

"Yeah, it's just quiet. That's all."

Nodding, the questioning party says "Okay then."

Indeed, the room is quiet and perhaps that's for the best in this case. There are only four other people in the waiting room of this doctor's office, but as he takes another look at the clock, Hoodsey is glad that he and wife Macie don't have to wait much longer for their appointment.

He was not kidding when he told Brandon a few weeks ago that he and Macie were attempting to start a family. What was also not up for conjecture was the fact that through their many attempts, including Macie finding out the dates when she is most likely to ovulate, there has been no success. No plus signs or appropriate lines on pregnancy tests can be found leading to them informing all that would hear of a forthcoming blessed event. Fortune, indeed, has made the decision to not shine upon the Bishops in the form of a pregnancy and this married couple wants to know what, if anything, they're doing wrong.

Breaking the quiet in the waiting room is the opening of a door. From there, a medical assistant calls the names of "Robert and Macie Bishop," who stand up from their seats in the waiting room. They are now being directed to the office of the this fertility treatment center to get results of some recently-administered medical tests.

The settings are opulent with the best leather seats for the patients of note as they sit and wait a little bit longer for word from the doctor. Conversation between this pair is limited by choice. Both parties are hopeful that nothing will prevent them from having a family, but given the health-conscious nature of Macie, they are here. Hoodsey gazes out of the window of the office for a few minutes before he hears the door open and a gentleman in a white coat enter the premises.

"Robert and Macie Bishop?" he asks to confirm the patient and significant other in the room. The pair get up and shake hands with Tyler Holloway, who specializes in all major fields concerning fertility for both of the sexes.

After he requests that the two have a seat, he begins his explanation with the extensive file for the Bishops. "I want to first off thank both of you for your patience these last couple of months. As you're probably aware, Doctor Macie, getting test results from labs can often feel like waiting for Godot."

Hoodsey chuckles and the doctor is internally thankful that he might have found something to break the clear ice in the room. Hoodsey admits, "I love that book. At the very least I hope we're waiting for good news."

Now Doctor Holloway has feelings of a needle; about to burst the balloon of anticipation he's certain both Robert and Macie are feeling. Taking a couple deep breaths, he admits, "You hear this all the time, but it's true. I have for you, based on the results, some good news and some bad news."

Looking each other in the eyes, Hoodsey and Macie nod to each other and make the decision using their thumbs. Looking down, they see that each party has put their respective thumb up. Nodding again, they turn to the doctor and Macie says, "Give us the good news first."

"Okay. As you wish," Dr. Holloway responds. "The good news is after reviewing your tests, Macie, it's clear to myself and my peers, you have nothing preventing you from having a healthy pregnancy. Your hormone levels are normal, you're in great health and your cycle is consistent with what we talked about three months prior. Nothing suggests any issues with pregnancy, so you have the green light there."

That would be enough for husband and wife to wrap each other in an embrace. If he were honest, that was Hoodsey's primary concern; the health of Macie. In fact, the two were about to hug but Macie stops Hoodsey to ask the doctor, "But what about the bad news?"

"The bad news," Dr. Holloway says, "is that while Macie's fertility is not up for debate, Robert's results showed a case of severe oligospermia. In layman's terms, that means that Robert has a very low sperm count. Here, let me show you." Dr. Tyler then pulls out a line graph and points to a number figure on the chart. "Semen is the passenger fluid which carry the sperm and allow them to swim through the female reproductive organs to get to the egg, penetrate and ultimately conceive a child, as you hopefully learned in sex ed. In any case, the average male has more than 20 million sperm cells per milliliter of semen." At this point, Dr. Holloway then points down to a red line on the chart and informs the couple, "Upon measuring your three samples, the lab concluded that your average sperm count was below four million. Robert, that's less than 20 percent what would be considered normal for a male your age."

Robert cringes at the magnitude of the doctor's words. He came to this fertility center to find out these matters and determine a course of action, but he absolutely did not expect to get this news. In otherwise good health, this information arrives his way with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer. His head comes down for a moment while a comforting hand on his right shoulder gives him a few pats with a following rub while informing him, "It'll be all right, Robbie. I mean I'm sure that's something that can be reversed, right?"

"Well before I get into that _too_ deeply, Macie, I feel I should explain some things to both of you and offer some medical advice," Tyler clarifies, though he's not certain how much assurance he can provide this couple. "First of all, though it does work against you two, a low sperm count doesn't necessarily mean you and Macie can't conceive through sexual intercourse. Macie is right that most issues related to low sperm levels can be reversed unless you aren't producing any sperm whatsoever and we know that that's not the case.

"Robert, right now I'm going to ask you some questions to see if we can't rule out a few possibilities and narrow down why this is happening. All I ask is that you answer honestly and we'll see what we can do to help you and Macie, okay?"

Nodding, Hoodsey knows of no other recourse. If the doctor believes that it isn't a major matter, then he's more than willing to assist him. "Okay, ask away Doc."

"Very well. Number one: Do you frequently take baths or use hot tubs at a rate of more than twice a week?"

"No."

"Question two: Do you smoke cigarettes, cigars or use smokeless tobacco?" Hoodsey answers 'no'. This continues to questions concerning alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, intravenous drugs, steroids and the use of antibiotics to which Hoodsey answers 'no' to all save for the occasional glass of wine for dinner.

"Do you have any of the following complaints? Trouble with sleeping, stress relevant with travel or other emotional issues, contraction of any viruses in the last six months including influenza, infections including sexually transmitted diseases in the last six months or running a fever of over 101 degrees for longer than a two day period in the last six months?"

The questions keep coming and yet Hoodsey cannot give the doctor any answers in the affirmative. The doctor is growing in frustration due to not being able to zero in on a self-inflicted cause, but Hoodsey continues to answer the questions given to him. For instance, he does not experience pain in the testes, discomfort during urination or problems with ejaculation.

Even more questions follow and for the next five minutes, Hoodsey responds in the negative to each question that might provide a clue to this medical mystery. While taking notes, Dr. Holloway desires to find some smoking gun to avoid at all costs the possibility that there may be something major.

He's not finding it and has to break potentially worse news to the Bishops. "Based on this information, I see no reason for either of you two to be alarmed...for now. First of all, like I said, it's possible that in the next month that you could conceive and my work will turn towards a healthy pregnancy. Before that, I'm going to give you both homework, ask you to come back in a month and we'll find out if either I missed something or you missed something that might be the root cause to Robert's infertility issues. I gave you those questions to see if there is anything in your life that you might be doing that won't adversely affect your quality of life, but could be causing these problems.

"Internally, there's a real possibility that the veins in your scrotum are enlarged. About fifteen percent of men with your condition have those enlarged veins. Think of it like varicose veins in that area. You only have so much room in there for those veins to get blood flowing through your testicles to cool them. If they're obstructed in any way, that will curb the sperm count, but it's an easy outpatient surgical fix to make. I hope that your situation doesn't go beyond either that or, like I said, a lifestyle choice like...keeping a laptop on your lap for too long. That can adversely affect sperm counts, as well."

His eyebrows raising upon hearing that scenario, Hoodsey grits his teeth for a few seconds. Hearing the doctor begin to say something else, he interrupts to raise his hand and admit, "Uh, Doctor Holloway. I'm sorry but...I must confess. I do keep a laptop on my lap for several hours...and a tablet computer while preparing for work. That probably doesn't help matters."

He isn't sure and won't be unless he asks, but Hoodsey swears that he heard the doctor breathe a sigh of relief upon hearing this news. One more second of silence and he would've asked what that meant as far as reversing his condition, but the doctor says, "No, it doesn't. I should've included that question with hot tubs and baths because what happens with those is the same thing that's likely happening with you. The laptop generates heat and the warmer temperatures around it make your penis, testes and other blood vessels in that area too warm for most sperm to even live. That's why all of those organs are outside of your body.

"In any case, buying a laptop desk or just putting your laptop on a work desk at all times should help. I can't guarantee anything until we run more tests after you stop doing what you've done, but in the interim I'm going to refer you to a urologist." The doctor makes notes and writes down information on a pad while saying, "He's only a few minutes from where you live and his name is Doctor Barry Goldwyn. This is to check in case this is either the issue with enlarged veins or a more serious condition. We can't guarantee anything until we have a further diagnosis. Now I want to believe we've zeroed in on the cause of your condition, but I'm still going to ask both of you to do that homework I asked. If anything else comes up after 30 days or you think something may be contributing to this condition beyond what we now know with the laptop, please don't hesitate to call my office. You understand?"

"Yes," Hoodsey and Macie say in unison as Hoodsey takes the written referral. The final words between doctor and patients deal with the matter of rescheduling an appointment within the next six weeks along with handshakes and goodbyes. As they reschedule at the front desk and walk through the exit of the doctor's office, Macie can't help but think about consoling her husband with regard to this news. Her clean bill of health, while welcome, does not take away from the realities that this couple face moving forward in their process. This is neither a Robert problem nor a Macie problem as much as it's a 'we' problem.

Yet it's a problem that the pair is ready to face as a 'Bishop family problem'. Put in its proper perspective, if they arrived in this office and got nothing but good reports, then they would make every effort to have a baby and would be in doctor's offices like this on multiple occasions for about a year. After the birth of their child, even more doctor's appointments and other visits of the sort will have to be made making this less of a blip in the road and hopefully more of a trend towards their ultimate goal of starting a family. Sure they have a roadblock in their way, but what would the journey be without its pitfalls to dodge, mountains to climb and valleys to traverse?

So there is work to do now and the road map to this objective will have a few more steps to it than placing tab "A" into slot "B". In their minds, that's fine.

Hoodsey and Macie already knew that, so they're far better than most who find the first step nowhere near as difficult or rewarding.

* * *

There's only one more turn to make before the van arrives in the airport terminal for departures. Morowa Gripling is driving while her husband nonchalantly drums his fingers on the dashboard of their car in anticipation for this trip. Along with his wife, Blake's sons are in booster seats in the back this afternoon to send their father off as he spends the next four days or so with Carl and Jonas Foutley in Zimbabwe.

The family lives about twenty minutes from the airport and have been in contact with the Foutley men since they made a stop on their layover flight in London. The Griplings know from past vacations that a flight like that lasts nine hours so they are now on the road to give Blake enough time to check baggage and to catch up with his friend before they get to business.

"Morowa, we're here," Blake remarks while pointing to the sign for Kenyan Airways. Morowa finds a spot to park their van, turns in, and puts on the hazard signals. The couple exits the van and while Blake gets his roll-out luggage and carry-on bag from the trunk, Morowa unstraps Beckett and Bennett from their seats.

Once he is certain that he's got everything, including the sunglasses on top of his head, Blake proceeds with his temporary 'farewell'. "Okay, family. I should be back by Monday if all goes well. Then Carl and Jonas will be with us for about a week after they get what they need from Harare. Beckett and Bennett, you be sure to help Mama with anything she needs around the house or errands outside of the house, you understand?"

The twins nod their heads and say, in unison, "Yes, daddy."

Kneeling down, Blake grabs his boys in a dual embrace and gives each of them a kiss. "Daddy loves you two and I'll miss you very much while I'm gone. Behave, and I promise to get you both something special."

"Really?" Bennett asks. "Great!"

"Now, remember, you have to behave...both of you. I will find out if you don't," he says, clarifying what he hopes his sons would already know. After this warning, he stands upright, turns to Morowa and says, "I have something special in mind for you, too. I never want you to feel left out. Uh...just hold down the forts, Mo; at home and at the school. Obviously, call me if there's an emergency. If anyone calls with questions for me that you can't answer, just call."

"You know I'll have everything under control, Blake. I always do."

Blake gives his wife a bit of a chuckle. He really can't argue with what she said, so he simply responds, "Yeah. You're right, love." After saying that, Morowa caresses her husbands cheek and then leans in to give Blake a full kiss on the lips.

Beckett, watching his mom and dad kissing, displays his disgust to his brother. He rolls his eyes, sticks out his tongue, points to it and then makes a retching sound. "Gross!" he exclaims. "Mama? Daddy, people are watching!"

Casting an eye over to Beckett, who is the ultimate 'boy' in the family and self-proclaimed as uninterested in 'all that mushy stuff', Blake steps away from his wife to ruffle the young boy's hair and tell him, "Then let them watch. You'll understand one day. Just remember we all got here the same way."

Squaring his eyes for a moment Bennett, ever the curious one, asks, "What does that mean, Daddy?"

Before Blake can even say a word, Morowa interjects herself to say, "We'll tell you boys when you get older. Trust me."

"You always say that, Mama!"

"And I will keep saying that as long as I'm your Mama which is, if I'm not mistaken, for the rest of your life. Get used to it, boys."

That remark from his wife generates another chuckle from Blake as he grabs his luggage and gives each member of his family a kiss, saying, "Well, it's that time. I'll see you next week. I love you all very much. Do take care." Morowa, Beckett and Bennett all say goodbye to Blake as he walks up to the terminal for baggage claim. As he goes through the automatic sliding door, Morowa straps the boys into the van and heads back home.

After checking one suitcase for a flight about six hours from now, Blake's goal is to find his traveling partners for the long weekend. He gives Carl a quick text to say, 'I'm at the airport. Just left baggage check. Where are you and your father?'

Finding a bench so he can rest, Blake waits for the response. He sits for only two or three minutes before getting a response from Carl, which reads, 'We're on our way to check our bags. If you're still there, don't go far. We shouldn't be long.'

Blake then quickly responds to this text with, 'Okay. I'm at a bench near the bag check. Have you and your father had anything to eat?'

One minute later, Blake gets a response to this question, reading, 'No. Are you treating?' with a smiley wink emoji at the end of the text.

The facial muscles of Blake Gripling are getting quite the workout as this latest text results in a hearty laugh. 'Carl, always the opportunist,' he ponders before shooting him a text, which says, 'We'll talk,' followed by a smiling emoji of his own. While still on the bench, he reads through some e-mails. At this point, Blake feels a tap on his shoulder and sees the face of his old friend in the flesh for the first time in about two years.

There is no handshake; only Blake getting up from his seat to wrap Carl in a big hug. Jonas watches this from about a two-step distance while holding onto their luggage cart and is happy to see the camaraderie between the two young men. Despite distance, time and family, their bond remains strong.

Blake shares pleasantries with Carl and releases the embrace to shake hands with Jonas and ask, "How are you, Mr. Foutley?"

"Doing well, Blake."

"Will this be your first time in any part of Africa?"

"My very first."

"You'll love it," Blake assures. "Carl can attest to that as he vacationed with me during the cricket matches in South Africa, remember?"

"Yeah, that was a lot of fun."

"Indeed. Mr. Foutley, don't believe what negative pundits say. I've lived here for more than five years and been to Zimbabwe on many occasions. I love it and besides back home, I couldn't think of a better place to raise my children, but..."

"Happy wife, happy life," Carl says, certain that he finished what Blake was going to say. "Not to say Mo hates the states, but when it gets cold, especially visiting Blake's folks back home, you yearn for year-round average temperatures in the sixties."

Blake will never tell Carl that he, too, likes not having to worry about blizzard conditions while in Nairobi. Nevertheless, not content with letting his friend just have the last word, Blake asks him, "While that may be true just what do you, with a girlfriend, know about having a wife that I don't?"

Shrugging his shoulders, as he has no real response to that question, Carl nevertheless answers, "Nothing really. Always heard it, though."

"You heard right, but enough about that, Carl. We've got about a...six hour layover before the flight which will be about three hours. I don't know if you were teasing or not about me treating for something to eat, but we can haul a taxi and find a restaurant soon. Nairobi has just about any and every taste. Just tell me what you're in the mood for and we can get it. And...yeah. I'll treat since you're now guests in my hometown."

Nodding, Carl taps Jonas and then leans in to whisper in his ear. A few seconds later, Blake watches Jonas whisper into Carl's ear. Another ten seconds or so and they break with Jonas asking, "So you say if we name our choice of cuisine, then Nairobi has it?"

"In a general sense," Blake answers, "virtually anything you can get from home, you can get in Nairobi. Name it."

Carl and Jonas turn to each other and shake hands, turn back towards Blake's direction and ask, in unison, "What about Chinese?"

"Yeah. We've got several Chinese restaurants," Blake confirms at which point, Carl gives off an exasperated sigh. Not certain what this means, Blake turns to Jonas who has his right hand out as if he's about to accept something. Carl then places a twenty dollar bill in his hand.

"I know it's no good here," Carl concedes, "but use it wisely where you can. Man, I can't _freaking_ believe you have Chinese food here, as well."

"It's called Mister Wok and they're more high end. We go there about every month. It's early enough that I'm sure we can still get a table. You should probably check your bags and equipment. I see you have quite a bit and that might take a while."

"Yeah," Jonas says. "Most of this is camera and lighting equipment for the interviews and footage in Zimbabwe. Maybe two or three of these bags are clothing and other essentials for both legs of the trip."

"Blake's right, though, Jonas," Carl adds. "If we want fuel for the trip, there's no use carrying all of this if we don't have to. Let's go and then we can haul this cab. Now you say it's not far, right?"

Shaking his head, Blake says, "Not at all. Mr. Foutley, do you need a hand with those bags?"

"Oh, no thank you," Jonas answers. "This baggage cart is great. I think I could roll one thousand pounds without a struggle. Come on, Carl. Let's check in this luggage." Without a word, Carl follows his father alongside Blake as the latter directs them to the Kenya Airways desk. Once the Foutley's finish business here, the trio will go to arrivals and hail a cab so they may all get a little taste of home.

From there, conversation will ultimately shift to the task at hand. It is a Wednesday and this coming Saturday a scheduled rally will happen in Harare, Zimbabwe in support of a national recall election.

Carl already has an well thought out plan of how to cover this. The recall election will get the attention of major international news bureaus, and rightfully so. He will instead cover the story of the plight of teachers in the nation juxtaposed against an overall improvement of circumstances for Zimbabweans. He'll also cover the role that education will have in the platform of a new regime and what it means for the locals after the dust settles in this political process. It's all interesting, unique and fascinating for Carl, but at the same time, it's no different than putting together brief editorials for a news station. Do the research, get the opinion of officials and those who will be impacted and present it to the public. Make no presumptions, assumptions or news and stick to the facts. He had no problem handling these things while working in America. The only difference between the United States and Zimbabwe with regards to journalism is distance, which doesn't make for much of a difference when put in perspective.

The vast land lies ahead for the reporter and he's so glad he's made this decision. He still has work to do to repair his relationship with Ramona, but when he gets to that bridge, he'll pay the toll and cross. This time, for now, is about his passion and it's great. Not just for his career but the cause. It fits with his philosophy and he's delighted to get insight on this developing story. Whatever happens, let it inform and educate those who may read or see it.

There is just no better way to learn about our world, after all.

* * *

A/N: That's the first time I've used the word 'emoji' in one of my works and I did it twice. I feel all hip and modern!

Anyhow...you've just read the second chapter with the boys, and now comes the fun part. Indeed, the sixth chapter will focus on Ginger and Courtney as the old friends finally reunite! Remember, this isn't a social visit. Ginger will actually be the one directing Courtney in the marketing, promotion and advertising of her novel. That technically makes Ginger Courtney's boss for nearly half a year.

Stay tuned for what happens and please don't forget to drop a review and let me know your thoughts! Until then, this is Rave!


	6. The Best Laid Plans

Why Blame When You Can Breathe?

DISCLAIMER: 'As Told by Ginger' is a creation of Emily Kapnek and is produced by Anivision, Klasky-Csupo and Nickelodeon/Viacom Networks. This author makes no claim to any properties herein and makes no monetary gain from its production. Please do not flame.

(Chapter 6- The Best Laid Plans)

* * *

I set the alarm for a quarter to seven for this Saturday morning and it rang right on cue. My best laid plan would be to get this over with as quickly as I could and that comes with a quick brushing of my teeth, washing my face and brushing my hair before changing into my outfit for the day. I've already showered so a light application of oils and deodorant are enough to freshen me up for this initial consultation. Looking myself over in the mirror, I feel like I've put on more than just my professional hat. The ensemble for today is navy blue; a pant suit with a small silver and pearl brooch pinned on the right lapel. Not gaudy in any sense, but indicative that I'm about business this bright April morning.

Remembering a note for me to see Mom before I left for the day, I walk towards the master bedroom dropping my work bag next to the entrance. Knocking three times, I hear a faint "Come in," and open the door to see mother at the foot of the bed with what appears to be a large book.

"Courtney, come sit with me," Mom says and I oblige taking a seat to her right. "You look great, dear," she compliments.

"Thank you, ma'am," I respond while looking over her shoulder. I see that what I thought was a large novel is actually one of our many photo albums.

Right now, she's looking at a page of photos where I am the primary subject. The first one I notice is a picture of me graduating from etiquette school. That photo was taken before I went to the third grade. "I remember that," I say, starting the conversation. "The teacher came from England, we all got to dress up in elegant costumes and have a light meal every day for four weeks. It was a lot of fun."

"And you learned a lot," Mom adds. "More than I did during etiquette school. Look right next to it." The photo was actually in the corner of this page and there were three other photos adjacent to it. Mom pointed to the one on its right; it's a picture of me about to go to a school dance. Not to brag, but I looked really cute in a baby blue camisole underneath a white denim jacket, matching jean skirt and my hair tied up into a French twist.

Mom says, "Even back then, you never stopped surprising me," and it hits me. I knew why she pointed out this photo. Let's just say back in the day, I was more than just the apple of my mother's eye. I wanted to be just like my Mom as I saw her as the true personification of beauty. She was more than delighted to have her only daughter join her in shopping sprees, beauty treatments, including trips to the hair salon, gossip and how to be a prim and proper attention grabber of the opposite sex.

As for that last one...I definitely failed, but that's where we go back to the photo of me before the dance. That's the night I also had my first kiss with one of my female classmates.

Her name was Jennifer Van der Garde and she was a quiet but kind blonde who arrived in January that year as a transfer student. She had been in our elementary school for three months. I don't know what happened but around the third month, I found myself sneaking glances at her now and then. Jennifer had these cute looks and expressions like how she'd chew on her eraser when pondering the answer to a question. That same thing would occur during lunch in the cafeteria or at recess and, lest I forget, she was always dressed in trendy and unique combinations.

An hour into the dance, she asked if I would accompany her to the restroom. I did and once going inside noticed no one else in there. She directly asked me, "Are you attracted to me, Courtney?" while pointing out the times I'd check her out when I thought she wasn't looking. I was young and had only a faint idea of what homosexuality was. My family didn't talk about it much and most of my experience came from kids when they called something (or someone) they didn't like 'gay'.

As far as the question, I certainly thought I was attracted to Jennifer. The problem is, I wasn't certain of my feelings. I didn't answer her pointed question right away. Instead, I put my head down and admitted, "I don't know. I'm scared," I said to her. "I've had these feelings about other girls for awhile, but...I'm not a freak, I swear!"

As I ran to the door, she grabbed me by the hand and turned me around before I could leave. I'm certain Jennifer saw my tear-washed face and probably wanted to mock me some more for my foolishness and spread this news through school like a California wildfire.

She lifted my chin and, instead, asked me, "Who said anything about you being a freak?"

I was left speechless and couldn't answer except to stumble over my own words, saying, "But people say-I mean, I heard that…"

Jennifer stopped me to ask if it mattered what people said if it meant I could be happy. I shook my head. I still couldn't say much as petrified as I was. "Courtney, look at me," she told me. I did so and she then asked, "So, you're not sure if you are gay or not, right?" I really wasn't and no one ever confronted me about it. No one I knew had these feelings and whenever you heard of it, the results were not good. People's reputations were ruined or they got shunned by friends and family.

At that point, I thought Jennifer would suggest I speak with a counselor. I had no interest in doing that, especially in this curious state. I wondered if I could just have her forget this and leave well enough alone. Then, in a situation I could neither fathom nor expect, she asks, "Courtney, would you like to kiss me?"

She then clarified, asking me if I wanted to kiss her to find out, and honestly I did. Looking back now, it was silly to suggest that a single kiss with a girl would give me the answer I was looking for, but damn it I was desperate and afraid that I might actually be different. Outwardly, I was as girly as they came. I still am to an extent. I assumed that lesbians were these strange, masculine women with short haircuts, tenor voices and an unhealthy obsession with leather and flannel fashion. So sue me. I was ten and everything seems terrifying at that age if you don't have a full grasp of it.

So I nervously told Jennifer, "Yes, I would like to kiss you. Is that okay?" And she did not answer me verbally. Instead she walked towards me step by step, staring me down eye to eye. Then she leaned in, turned her head and pressed her lips against mine.

For all the pitfalls in my life that would come, I have to be honest in saying it was the first time in my life that I did something on my own that made perfect sense. I always followed the advice of my folks or did for myself when others said I should and this time, the moment and the spotlight was all on me and I shined. I backed away from this kiss after about five seconds and thought the smile on my face would have to be surgically removed. Those giddy feelings lasted all of four days.

After the kiss Jennifer informed me that this would be our little secret, which I agreed and we left to go back to the dance. I wanted to kiss her again, but perhaps we'd have to have another joint bathroom break. I wouldn't mind. The dance was on Friday night and the following Tuesday morning, I didn't see Jennifer. Then, out of the blue, I got called to the principal's office. While there, I encountered the school guidance counselor, the principal, my mother, Jennifer and her father. That kiss sent me from cloud nine to Dante's ninth circle of hell in half a week as a certain someone left their diary out in the open. Jennifer's cat curious parents took a peek and were shocked to discover an entry about their daughter 'kissing a real princess of a girl'.

She looked absolutely despondent as the principal and Jennifer's father explained what they found and what Jennifer told them. My heart ached for her at that moment and I decided to take the heat off of her as much as I could. "I'm sorry," I blurted. "It was a stupid dare!" I didn't want anything to happen to her, so I said that the kiss was a dare I wanted to see how far we could take.

It worked...to a point. I got suspended for five days for the kiss, told not to mention this incident with anyone, moved to the other fourth grade class, ordered to attend individual therapy with a child psychologist as a condition to prevent expulsion and told to limit my contact with Jennifer. Ultimately, Jennifer's family moved again between school years. At the same time I got closer with another classmate of mine, though the initial feelings were far more platonic; Miranda Killgallen. After this incident, I knew to suppress these emotions for other girls and did so for several years up until first encountering Ginger Foutley the first time.

"We haven't talked about this much but you really did have feelings for that girl, didn't you?" my Mom inquires.

"It's complicated, to be honest," I admit. "You have to understand, Mom, I was very, very young and didn't know what was going on with me. Didn't even know there was such a thing as bisexuality. She was very pretty, though. I'll say that much."

"Not so surprising now that you've married and divorced another woman."

That stung. I let Mom know as much, along with airing my offense with the remark, saying, "You know there's no need to go there at all. Miranda is _far_ from just any other woman and you know that."

"You-You're right," Mom says defensively. "I'm sorry. I thought...damn it, Courtney, I've done the best that I can to understand this. It's hard to comprehend a 23-year-old phase as a reality, so I won't even bother with that. It's just-I know you have those parents that say they knew at a young age. Not me. I just couldn't fathom my daughter being a significant other to someone else's daughter. Not in a million years. Maybe back then I denied it and thought 'She just needs to meet the right guy and you'll never hear about this again.' My pipe dream never came to pass and here we are again. Several more days older and hopefully wiser. At least I like to think I'm no longer in denial. "

I might as well just say it; ever since I came out to my family it's been implicitly tough. When you tell your folks that you're not straight at age 20, you hope for three things. One is that they take the news as easily as possible, two is that they had some sort of hint making the blow feel not as hard. Number three, and most important, is that they'll love and support you no matter what. In my case, just under two out of three isn't so bad. Obviously neither of my folks have disowned me, which is excellent. But while my dad gives me his full support, including going to PFLAG meetings and rallies with me, my mom still finds it rough.

You have to see things from Claire Gripling's perspective and I've had enough time to do just that. Obviously she loves me, but consider someone who knew nothing but the comprehensive tenets of upper-class femininity while growing up learning to express them all with no effective room for compromise. That person then gives birth to me who while initially appearing to be their carbon copy and a popular girl in all respects, lost more than just standing and money during my high school years; I lost innocence, but I blame no one for that because it was bound to happen.

One thing I refuse to have my Mom do is blame anyone, including herself, for the fact that I prefer women. "Mom, please understand…"

Mom raises up her hand, saying, "Just let me finish, please. Though you may do things I don't understand or comprehend, that doesn't mean I love you any less, Courtney. Besides, I wouldn't want to miss out on the progress my only daughter has made in her career. You've done quite well for yourself and...as I look at you here this morning, it's easy to see the truly beautiful woman you've become. I can't deny that and I'll never deny you-all of you-as long as there's breath in me."

It's good to hear that despite our differences. Again, I know Mom doesn't hate me for this. It's just unexpected for her, and I can respect that. "Thank you, Mom, and let me be clear. You don't have to understand everything to be in my corner. Your support, Dad's support, my brother, sister-in-law and my family and friends-that's all I need. Not only being my ally as a queer woman, but in my profession, including signing Ginger to this contract. You're support means the world, and I love you too, mom."

I lean in to give Mom a hug, but she puts her hand up again. I'm confused, but she says, "So we've established feelings for Jennifer when you were young. Miranda is in the state records, but I'm curious. What about Ginger Foutley..._Patterson_?"

Ouch! Mother can be accused of aloof behavior, including ostrich syndrome when it came to my orientation, but she hit the hammer to the nailhead when it came to her reasoning. My face pales as she says Ginger's married name, and I believe that's all that my Mom needs to know to get her answer.

Then I look away from her as she shakes her head in clear disapproval. "Really, Courtney? Come on. You know better. Your father and I really do like the Pattersons. Darren, Ginger and Kailani are a great family and...again; nothing will stop me from loving you. I don't expect you to control how you feel towards someone, but you have no right to pursue anybody if they don't respond in kind and _especially _if they're already in a relationship."

"Mother," I reply in an attempt to be cool under pressure after hearing this. While lifting a finger towards her direction, I make it clear that "I am here on a strictly professional basis to help Ginger promote her novel. You know this. You're in the same camp as Miranda and, with all due respect, it's pissing me off. Did I have feelings for Ginger? Yes, but my focus right now is on her business. I don't see why given all of that, I can't assist a friend for her sake. My boss happened to find Ginger and sent her case my way because I'm qualified to handle it. I can't help how it got to me, so I'll just do my part to help her and...hopefully come out of it with a _friendly_ relationship."

Mom, at this point, closes the photo album and breathes in a deep sigh. Tossing the album towards the bed head, she says, "Come here," as Mom reaches to give me a hug. While still in the embrace, she says, "I want to believe you, Courtney, but your reputation kind of precedes you with attractive females. Nevertheless, you're right. You have a job to do. I won't keep you from giving it your all for Ginger. So while you wait for your car, you can use mine. I don't have much else to do today. Focus on your task, don't forget what I said and please, _please_ be careful. You understand?"

I nod. What can I do but tell Mom that I'll be careful? Like Dad yesterday evening, I give her a kiss on the forehead and let her know that I'll see her later that afternoon and shut the door behind me.

Now I'm heading down the stairs with work bag in hand. Before walking towards the door, I grab an apple from the kitchen table. Checking for keys, I see a set next to one of the house phones. It is to Mom's blue BMW and as I grab it, I know I'm ready.

This apple just won't cut it for today. I'll need a complete breakfast for the day so I can go to Ginger's place and get down to business. I know the way as Mack gave me the directions to her home one week after I accepted the assignment. It's only a couple of minutes from my folks home and in the same upscale development.

Checking the clock, I see the time is just after 8:30 in the morning. I think I've hyped myself up a bit too much for what one party expects is a meeting between total strangers. Again, it is Saturday. I don't know how Saturdays work in the Patterson house but when I was with Miranda, she'd get up at ungodly times on Saturday mornings to watch European football. I'd join her several times and actually became a casual fan of the sport. Still find the 'offside' rule to be a real puzzler, but I digress.

I check the refrigerator for anything breakfast related. I see assorted vegetables in the crisper drawer, a small batch of leftovers from yesterday's party and near-empty cartons of orange juice and milk, but no eggs. Nothing screams 'complete breakfast', so here's my plan. I'm going to the market to pick up items for the week and then come back to get a full meal with enough time to see Ginger at 11:00 a.m.

Exiting the house I get a glimpse of the sun draping the fresh cut grass and then hitting my eyes with the force of a billion flashlights as I look upward. I shake it off and then shut off the alarm to my mother's car. From there, I enter, strap in, turn the key and change the station from her classical to my classic rock station. The same one I enjoyed since leaving Connecticut for Los Angeles.

They're playing _Right Here, Right Now_ by Jesus Jones which is one of those signs that I'm getting old. I was only three when this hit the radio and it's now considered 'classic'. I drive off and pay attention to any incoming traffic while listening to the lyrics of the song. They play in my head and I need to remind myself to put the song on my playlist for later as I find that it still resonates after all this time. That news can happen at the blink of an eye. That today's revolution becomes tomorrow's history quicker than the night becomes the day. Perhaps it's not a stretch to call some hits from my generation cult classics. I do enjoy hidden gems of that sort.

As I make my way to the market, I ponder the feeling for another moment. You know of a song, movie or show from days past that you grow to love when you get older, right? Well, that's like what happened when I adjusted the radio and heard that song. It's as if I discovered a new friend whom I've known for much of my life...in a manner of speaking.

* * *

Life happens to us in many unique ways that we don't immediately catch. Eventually, if our aim is to grow up, we can't help but learn from these moments. For our household, that way of life is now a three-way street as Darren and I tend to Kai this Saturday morning. For all the excitement of her getting to sleepover with friends and not family for the first time, life came crashing down for my daughter She had a rough night last night, but will be fine.

As I bring up a meal of toast and jam, orange slices, dry corn flakes and a glass of seltzer water, I already hear the commotion coming from Kai's room. I see and hear from my vantage point in the upper hallway Darren speaking with Kai, presumably to give her a message of encouragement and a reminder that this incident is not the end of the world.

"Daddy, I just can't believe that happened," Kai speaks to her father. "They're all gonna laugh at me at school Monday, I know it! I won't be able to show my face when they hear this!"

"Listen, Kai. Sweetheart," I hear Darren say while holding our daughter's right hand. "This is...look, maybe they will. Okay. So they'll laugh for a bit, but they'll soon forget and move on to the next thing. You'll be fine. You're not the first little girl that had something like this happen."

"No, I did far worse than other girls," Kai says. I catch her turn away from Darren, declaring, "Daddy, please. I just want to go to sleep."

"No, Kai," Darren says, putting his foot down. "You told me and mommy that you wanted to go to sleep last night and you did. Now it's time for you to get something in your tummy and just talk about this! Listen, it happened all the time for you when you were younger. Last night, something probably didn't agree with you. It happens to all of us. If you asked one of your classmates, they'd probably say the same thing happened to them. It's no different than me with black pepper or your Uncle Carl with peanuts. Hey, remember when your Uncle Will got stung by those bees last year? He could've died. I'm glad you just threw up. You're lucky."

"But I didn't just throw up, daddy," Kai counters as I continue to listen not so interested in interrupting an important father-daughter moment. "I did worse. Even with you, Uncle Will and Uncle Carl, I'm sure they didn't end up throwing up on Kayla right as we sing _Happy Birthday_."

I start to giggle and I know I shouldn't be giggling. This is part of the reason I didn't want to go into Kai's room as I know I'd hear that and the absurdity of the scenario would get me. Indeed, the pangs of laughter hit me again and I'm glad my girl didn't see me, much less hear me. I'll let it out before she gets her breakfast, but it's still crazy to imagine that situation as it took place.

Darren and I were actually at the house party with the Griplings for their guest of honor only to get a call from the mother of Kayla, the birthday girl, explaining what happened to me on my cell. She took it in stride and said she offered clean clothes and medicine, if needed. Kai told her friend's mother that she just wanted to go home. So before Darren and I could find out who the Griplings were so excited to welcome into their home, we had to leave.

Before getting Kai, we picked up a few things from the store. Saltine crackers, seltzer water, a pack of ginger ales and the pink stuff in the bottle; all for the upset stomach. We picked up Kai after about 20 minutes and spent the ride home trying to get her to talk about the situation, but she just wanted to go to sleep and made it crystal clear that she had no interest in talking about throwing up on her classmate.

As I walk into her room tray in hand, I make one thing clear. "You need to put something in you, Kai. I'm not gonna stuff you like a Thanksgiving turkey, but at least have some of what I spent time to make. I'm sure you'll feel better if you do."

Her head drops down a bit and I believe I caught a bit of resolve in her demeanor. Looking back up at me, she asks, "This won't happen again, right?"

Putting the tray next to Kai, I admit to her, "I can't guarantee that something like this won't happen again, honey. You probably won't do that to someone else, but sometimes we'll either have too much of something or the wrong thing. Usually, it's one of the two." Kai slowly picks up her toast while I speak, bringing it to her mouth and then taking a large bite. I cast a glance towards Darren, who nods his approval. While we watch our daughter eat, another thought comes to mind. "Kai, think carefully. Do you remember what you ate before this happened?"

As Kai reaches for the seltzer water, she stops to consider what might have caused her to throw up. "I didn't eat that much." She takes a few gulps of her water and then says, "I had pigs in a blanket, tacquitos, chicken fingers, mac and cheese balls, nachos, french fries, fried candy bars..."

"But you didn't have that much, right?" Darren questions and I have to agree. It's a wonder why we even wondered about this for as long as we did. Kai eats like a bird most days. She's healthy and eats well, don't get me wrong, but takes her time eating and is often the last to finish her plate even if she has the least amount of food. Around social gatherings, however, she tends to let loose. I think when people tell Kai she can help herself, she holds them to their word. Darren and I hold a stronger standard, though. She'd often mention coming home with tummy aches after visits with her grandparents or her uncles and I should've seen this given that it's her first sleepover with friends. As Darren and I said she'll live and I as she continues to eat her breakfast, I'm now sure of that.

So for now, I'll put a visit to the doctor on hold but give her a kiss on the cheek. While eye to eye with Kai, I have only a simple request for my daughter. "Just take it easy, know your limit and you'll be fine. I love you, Kai. Finish your breakfast, put it to the side and get some rest. Daddy or I will get it later. Right now, I have to get ready for this business meeting."

"Okay, mommy," she says as Darren and I walk out of Kai's room and shut the door behind us.

Once the door closes, Darren makes the comment, "She sure has her moments, huh?"

I chuckle. "Of course she does. She's part of our crazy-as-a-catfish in the doghouse family." As we head down the stairs, I reply facetiously, "What do you think?"

"I think," he replies, "she will probably look back and laugh at this within the next year...and I also think she gets it from your side of the family."

"Oh, is that so?" I ask, taking exception to the focus being on the Foutley end of the gene when it comes to blame. "Darren, I recall when we got engaged. Your father treated me like he was welcoming me into the _Cosa Nostra_ when I've known him just as long as I've known you! He acted like you were his daughter and I was some horny boy trying to make inroads. For goodness sakes, when my real dad wasn't around, he was practically my surrogate!" He puts his hand up in protest and I say, "And before you bring up my brother, I'll have you know that accusing Carl of being crazy is like calling out the dog for chasing the mailman. That's just what they do. We can't help it so all we can do is love it."

"That is your philosophy," Darren agrees. "I have to wonder what he'd think about us right now, though."

"Whatever he wants. He's his own man," I figure. Darren has always been self-conscious about matters pertaining to his dad, and I can understand the reason why. "Your dad was probably testing me back then, but the truth is...we've passed, right? All couples have what our therapist called the mountain moment. They see the mountain in their lives, whatever it may be, and decide whether to climb it together or separately. Darren, we've done it together better than we could've ever done apart and come back better equipped for the next of life's peaks and valleys."

"Yeah, I'm at the point that I feel...there's nothing that will keep me from those I love. It's about Kai at the end of the day. The house, the nice cars, the great amenities-they can all take a hike as long as I know she's doing well. I just...more than anything, I pray that whatever it takes that what we're both doing is all worth it and that our work is for the right reasons. What we put in now we can invest in her later. I see special things in her and want to cultivate it...without giving her some sense of entitlement neither of us had.

"Listen, Ginger. I know your agent is coming in a few hours, so I'll go to the office in a bit and leave you two to your devices. I shouldn't be long. Okay?"

"Okay," I tell Darren before giving him a kiss on the lips. As he goes back upstairs I'm encouraged in a sense by what he said. We've had some disagreements about Kai, maintaining a happy home for our daughter and what, precisely, those goals mean for our professional lives. The past few weeks, however, have gone quite well for both of us. The 'girls weekend' was a big success and that's led to even more study nights with our daughter combined with getting her prepared for the sleepover that ended up as a bust. Those unfortunate moments will happen, but I'm glad to have had these moments with her and am certainly looking forward to many more once my book launches this fall.

It doesn't hurt that Kai is at an age where she recognizes the fact that her parents get to work and take on different roles beyond being her provider, though that is of the utmost importance to Darren and I as parents. My primary point is that it's always good to be well-rounded. I have been willing to concede as much to Darren in the past few months while he sets aside more time for Kai by prepping members of his management team to take over so he doesn't have to constantly be at the office to handle business or at a local club that can use the touch of a helping hand.

Well, it's been about fifteen minutes or so. With the exception of my personal office, I've cleaned up the main floor for my guest. I can't tell you for certain when she will be here, but Mack said late yesterday evening that if I don't see the agent between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. to call him. I won't complain too much about that, I really can't if I'm honest, but that's the same time frame that every cable company in the nation will give a new customer. Rarely do I leave as satisfied for their services as I'm ardently hoping for _Westwood and Beyond_. After all I'm not getting these services on the cheap, but I just have to look at it as a long-term investment that can reap untold rewards for my family.

Darren comes back down the stairs with Kai's empty tray as I make a move to my office. He kisses me twice on my cheek telling me he's going to the office to check another potential location for _Elements_ in Brooklyn while leaving the tray on the kitchen countertop. He adds that he let Kai know this before going back downstairs. I wish him luck and he walks out the door leaving me with only one potential distraction in the home, with all due respect to my daughter.

One final check of the kitchen, including placing the dishes in the dishwasher and the tray into a container next to the refrigerator, and I leave there to get my office ready. Opening the door inside, I know I have my work cut out for me. The good news, though, is that it's almost 10 a.m. leaving me plenty of time to get this done. Again, cable company times like these are erratic, but I'm certain I will have time for this. I assess the room and see several boxes of books. If I get them out of here, this place will be far more presenting. The only question is...where do I put them? There are about eight of these boxes in all and most of them are filled with hardcover books of mine.

I start with one unopened box near my feet and pick it up to bring it to our coat closet. It's got weight to it, but nothing I can't manage. Opening the closet, it does appear that there will be enough room for more than half of the boxes in my office. Making room in the closet, I place this first box inside and then walk back to my office to grab another weighty box. I repeat this process four more times and snugly store six of the boxes into the closet with very little room, even for a windbreaker.

That leaves two left in my office; the two with the fewest number of books. So I condense the copies of my short story collection and copies of my poetry book into one box. I take the empty box to the kitchen to cut the tape and collapse the box for recycling on Monday morning. I actually now have room in my office to see what needs to be cleaned. The single box of books is the only item of note on the floor. I could do for a little bit of dusting and removing the paper trail from my desk, but beyond that there's not much else to do.

I vacuum the room moving the office chair and placing the box on top of my desk. Any other knick-knacks or assorted items out and in the open are placed into one of many of my desk drawers to organize later. I don't eat in here, so crumbs aren't strewn about in random areas requiring a more attentive touch than what I'm cleaning at the moment. That wasn't always the case, though. Until I noticed roaches scatter after I turned on the light one Sunday morning, my office was a dining room for all meals. After interrogation, Kai confessed to coming in my office to have either a quiet spot for homework or a downtime snack when I'm not home. Afterwards, I admit that some of my own actions may have contributed to the minor infestation but make a rule not to eat in the office so that the insect issue does not happen again.

All in all, cleaning the office doesn't take longer than ten minutes. The most difficult part was moving the boxes and now one doesn't have to worry about tripping when entering my space. There's only one box remaining and I know exactly what to do with it. Given that Darren will be out for a few hours, it won't hurt to move this box up to our room closet. It's not as heavy as the memoir or short story boxes in the closet as the poetry books are paperback. I walk up the stairs with the single box and encounter Kai, who is dressed up and appears no worse for wear from yesterday evening.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kai answers. "I feel better after having breakfast."

Just as I thought. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

"Mommy, I'm sorry for the way I acted earlier," Kai says before I can speak to her about the upcoming meeting one more time. "I was...I got a little carried away with what went wrong last night. Daddy was right. They'll move on to the next thing soon and...even Kayla told me that she wouldn't say anything before you picked me up."

Nodding, I wonder if Kayla's mom primed her for that conversation. Nevertheless, I have to commend my daughter, saying, "That is very mature of you, Kai, and if Kayla said that and meant it, she's a true friend." While I'm not necessarily sure if that will wind up being the case down the line, it's always good to know who will have your back in situations where trust matters so much.

In any case, while still holding onto this box, I put it down on the ground, saying, "Listen, Kai. You know that the agent from California will be coming here at any time." She nods. We've discussed this quite a few times. "If you need something that only I can take care of at that moment, just let me know. I'm sure this agent won't mind if you call for me but, again, only if it's urgent. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," she responds. "Only if it's urgent."

She and I are on the same page and I give her a smile before ruffling her curly red hair, saying, "Atta girl. I'm gonna put this in my room. You can watch TV if you want. I'll be down in a bit. If you hear the bell, yell up to me and I'll come. Got it?"

"Okay, mom," Kai says as she walks downstairs to the den and I open the master bedroom, then our walk-in closet and finally put the cardboard box inside for now.

Heading back downstairs I see Kai enjoying a new generation of a show I enjoyed when I was her age. Heck, I had the merchandise and now she's watching the cartoon _Our Pony Pals_ like my mom would some Saturday mornings with me. I don't say anything but just sit down next to her on our L-shaped couch and watch.

Back in my day, as old as it may make me sound, the cartoons meant 'for girls' looked it and felt it. You had bright pastel colors, an obvious focus on beauty, powers relegated to the emotions or feelings, goals of being the belle of the ball and finding Prince Charming. Those days, thankfully, as I see it, are over.

Girls in animation can kick butt, be beautiful, but also be smart, cunning, resourceful, in leadership positions and, considering my situation, I'm glad that they can also be of color and no one raises a fuss. It's good to see representation of all forms of womanhood on the screen, especially for my daughter who never has to feel one way or the other towards her heritage.

_Our Pony Pals _of this generation are no exception. Even men are getting into the craze, which I can't honestly say I would've expected growing up. Yet it's happening and I'm glad to live in a time when we can unapologetically express our fandoms and hobbies to the fullest. Life is too damn short not to and if it means that we positively contribute to our communities, who among us could argue with that? Certainly not me.

As Kai and I laugh at a joke with a bit of an adult flair to it about hot cross buns in the oven, we find ourselves watching our third episode in a row on the couch. She explains to me the names of the various ponies and their roles while I proffer personal proficiencies in past pony parables. I dare you to say that three times fast. Go ahead, do it now.

Anyhow, we come to find our experiences are not that different from me in the mid-90s to her in 2020. True bonding through the unique magic of these amazing technicolor equines takes place between mother and daughter...until I hear our doorbell. I check the cable box and see that the time is 11:28 a.m. "That must be her," I say out of pure instinct, though I can't be sure. That could be anyone at the door so I tell Kai that I'll be right back and make my way to the front door.

Before opening the door, I check the peephole and see a woman about my age on the other side. She's blonde, slender and professionally dressed to the nines. I don't quite catch the face of this person because she's wearing sunglasses, but I sense this is who I've been waiting for this morning.

I open the door and see her as she removes her glasses. I greet her, unconsciously, saying, "Good morning."

"Good morning," she replies and then asks, "Are you Ginger Foutley?" Indeed I am who she's looking for, but why am I not saying so? After hearing her voice, I now have to make sure my ears aren't deceiving me along with my eyes. I squint a bit while watching her. Again, she has long blonde hair, a thin build and a good looking blue pantsuit. She's awful familiar, but why?

What is it about this woman that I'm not catching? I have to know for certain. "Excuse me-I'm sorry. I _am _Ginger. I spaced out there for a second. Look, I don't mean to pry too much, but have we met before today? You remind me of someone I knew when I was younger."

Her eyebrows rise and then she places her left hand over her mouth. I think she was trying to catch a chuckle or snigger in her throat. Whatever it was, she composes herself, takes a deep breath and answers me, saying, "Um...yes we have, Ginger. It's me...Courtney Gripling. I'm your agent from _Westwood and Beyond_."

What? My mouth is agape. That makes no sense. I haven't seen Courtney since my wedding! Her mother keeps me apprised only to the point of saying that she's doing well in Los Angeles working for the entertainment industry. That's how Claire puts it to me, leaving out any of the more intensive details of her lifestyle. "Are you serious? Courtney?"

Before I can make any sort of remark upon hearing that one of my childhood friends is back in town to help me promote my novel, I hear the woman across from me say, "Hard to believe, huh? Well, read this." Courtney hands me a work ID badge. The name 'Courtney Gripling' is there along with her picture, the accompanying title of 'Public Relations-Marketing Agent' and the _Westwood _logo.

On the rear of the badge is the name of the guy I've been speaking to for the past several months, Mr. Mackaulay, along with his contact information and it's all accurate. I look at Courtney, then the badge and back to Courtney. There is one question left to ask and it makes too much sense to not be true. "Last night your parents threw a party and talked about welcoming a guest of honor. Darren and I have been to many of their parties in the past and they've never been more excited about a guest of theirs like they were yesterday. We were there but had to leave to take care of a family matter, so we didn't get to see who it was. Courtney, was it you?"

She nods and says, "Yes, Ginger. That was my welcome home party."

I turn away from Courtney for a second. Putting into perspective that the odds of something like this happening are enough to make master mathematicians go loopy. I look back at her, still in absolute disbelief, and exclaim, "You have got to be kidding me! Courtney, you're working for me?"

"Yeah. Surprise!" she says as if it was no biggie that we're reunited through these unique circumstances. "I knew about this...several weeks ago and got plenty of time to prepare. My boss has been raving about you since he gave me this assignment. He _really_ wants you under his wing. Mack kept telling me you didn't want to know who it was and he respected that. It would've been nice to not have to shock you like this, but here I am ready to go. If I seem mellow to you, Ginger, I just want to remain professional. I've gotten to read your novel over the past six weeks and loved it. I've been constructing several potential ideas for promoting it, and..."

"Courtney, come inside," I say, waving off that talk for now to invite my old friend into my home. Courtney closes the door behind her and I call for Kai to come to the front door. While waiting for my daughter, I turn to Courtney and let her know, "If you're going to be here for the next five or six months, you're going to need to be introduced to someone in my family."

It doesn't take long before Kai is there, front and center. I direct her attention to the woman just in front of our door, saying, "Kai, this lady here is going to help me get my novel to as many people as she can. Believe it or not, Daddy and I went to junior high school with her a _long_ time ago. This is-Miss or Mrs.?"

"Miss," Courtney answers laconically.

"Say hello to my old friend Miss Courtney Gripling. She's Mr. and Mrs. Gripling's daughter. Courtney, this is my daughter child Zola Kailani Patterson, but everyone calls her Kai."

"Hello, Miss Gripling."

I watch as Courtney goes down to one bended knee and shakes her hand, saying, "Well hello, Kai, and might I say you make up the best of both your mommy and daddy."

"Thank you, Miss," Kai says and I just have a giddy feeling right now as Courtney gets back up to her feet. I tell Kai that she can go back in the den and watch television. Before she does so, however, Kai looks up to Courtney, saying, "My mommy gets nothing but the best, Miss Gripling. That's what daddy always says, but mommy says once this book sells she and I will have more time together. Can you make that happen?"

"Kai!" I exclaim, not believing what my daughter just said to someone she just met. "Let me handle that! That's why Miss Courtney is here, after all."

Turning to Courtney, I attempt to apologize, but she says, "Oh, she's okay, Ginger. She's involved in the process to a point and has your best interests at heart."

Maybe, but still she's six. I couldn't possibly imagine telling my mom to take it easy on graveyard shifts at that age. "Kai, go back to the den. I don't think we'll be too long." She does so without fuss and I walk Courtney to my personal office.

She, presumably out of earshot of Kai, leans in as we make it to the door to tell me, "You have a beautiful daughter, Ginger."

"Oh, thank you Courtney," I say. Opening the door, I make the remark, "They broke the mold with her. Come on in," I tell her and we head inside with me shutting the office door ready to begin final proceedings for my latest work.

I don't quite know what I expected to come through my door this morning ready to see me to the homestretch of writing and publishing my novel. I suppose you could say it's just like Kai's unfortunate incident last night in that life just happened right now and I wasn't immediately prepared for it. As I often tell family, it's interesting how the stars align to make the impossible possible. All the troubles with my former representation have led me to this moment. I'm with a high-end agency in California for this project and maybe a few others to come. They think so much of my work that their chairman sent the top agent for the job. I didn't ask for it, he gave it to me and with the best comes expectations. I expected the best, for sure, but never could've counted on that meaning I'd get Courtney Gripling.

So on this first weekend of reunions, happy returns and a old friend back in town, we will get the ball rolling correctly. She claims to have come prepared. I'll be the judge of that, but also want to know a bit more about this. I'm sure working in the land of stars has kept her busy. Now, back in Connecticut, I hope she'll drop that professional hat a time or two and sit down with me some days without even talking about my novel. My old running mates aren't that far, per se. Nowhere near as far as Prescott and Claire are from their son, daughter-in-law and grandsons, mind you, but it's not as if even me, self-employed freelancer that I am, will go at a moment's notice three-and-a-half hours to Dodie in Dover, or even four-and-a-half hours to Macie in Washington, D.C. After all, they have to be prepared for my visit, along with their significant others and, in Dodie's case, her kids, then I have to travel that same amount of time to get back home.

It'll be nice to have someone close working with me to help make this whole matter easier for me. We haven't seen each other in a while, but I know our folks keep in touch. I'd...really like Courtney to come back in my life at some level. Someone to talk to in person and speak about things Darren won't necessarily grasp...that can't hurt. It would be, to make my NYU professors happy, serendipitous splendor to have Courtney feel that way too, and make this about more than promoting a novel.

She has to, right? I was a real friend once. I wouldn't mind being one again for her and her for me. Though I've barely seen her since high school, I miss her. From what I remember, she was genuine. A tremendous quality to possess and, if that's remained and if Hollywood hasn't changed her, I think great things will happen these next few months.

We just have to start work on those best laid plans. So, let's roll up our sleeves and get to it!

* * *

A/N: So, I'm going to take a little break on this story and allow the chapters to breathe for a bit (pun not intended). I expect the next chapter to come around August and to whet appetites, I will give Courtney's perspective on meeting Ginger for the first time in many years and bring in a few more characters from the show for their first appearances in this story.

If you have any questions or comments about the story, don't hesitate to drop a review. Also, check out my deviantArt page for character and story notes that I post from time to time.

Until next time, this is Rave!


End file.
